


Post-Traumatic

by silentxsoul



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25803271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentxsoul/pseuds/silentxsoul
Summary: This wasn’t the first time he and Hermione had the same late-night thought, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. He caught her eye as he walked over to the steaming kettle behind her. Though no words were spoken, there was a mutual understanding of why they were there.The nightmares, the guilt, and the sorrow that they would never fully shake. All wrapped up in a nice, post-traumatic bow. There were no words of comfort, no words to make what they were feeling go away—but there was comfort that they weren’t alone in their fight.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 27
Kudos: 149





	1. 01

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is three years in the making and I'm so excited to finally be able to put it somewhere that isn't my hard-drive! It's taken about a dozen forms over the years and thanks to all the downtime quarantine has brought me, I was able to see it to a point that I was happy with (well mostly, I don't know that I'll ever be truly happy with my work lol). 
> 
> This is EWE, canon up to the Final Battle. From there things have changed (you'll see the major changes immediately) and this is my take on how everyone coped with the aftermath, primarily focusing on Hermione and Charlie. Shout-out to the rare pair that I'm hopelessly obsessed with. I will say this is more of a slow-burn, so you've been warned :)
> 
> Finally, as tagged there will be a mention of thoughts of suicide. It's brief and will be tagged later in the story.

_Five Years Ago_

_The war had ended two weeks ago, and yet it felt like he hadn’t slept in a year. He wasn’t sure if it was the guilt or the adrenaline that lingered, but between the two and mourning the loss of his father and younger brother, Charlie Weasley had long given up on the idea of sleep._

_With night came the memories, playing before his eyes as if it were on that muggle contraption. Over and over again, while the voices in his mind waged war against him._

_Tonight was no different, and he highly suspected this was his new normal—laying in bed, eyes to the ceiling as he barely kept his head above water. Deciding he’d spent enough time blinking in the darkness, he numbly rolled out of his bed and stumbled towards his dresser._

_Fumbling around his room at the Burrow in the early hours of morning, he finally located a pair of pajama bottoms that actually fit. Quickly he tugged them on, and for a brief moment considered looking for a shirt, but decided he needed a drink more than he needed to cover his chest._

_Quietly he made his way into the hall and down the stairs to the kitchen below. As he descended, he was acutely aware of the dim light glowing at the foot of the stairs. Drawing closer he was sure that there was another occupant in the kitchen, no doubt trying to escape the insomnia._

_When he hopped off the last step he was greeted to a familiar sight. The young witch who had been a part of his family dynamic for the last seven years sat curled in a chair at the kitchen table, one knee hugged at her chest to create a rest for her chin._

_This wasn’t the first time he and Hermione had the same late-night thought, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. He caught her eye as he walked over to the steaming kettle behind her. Though no words were spoken, there was a mutual understanding of why they were there._

_The nightmares, the guilt, and the sorrow that they would never fully shake. All wrapped up in a nice, post-traumatic bow. There were no words of comfort, no words to make what they were feeling go away—but there was comfort that they weren’t alone in their fight._

_He set the tea to steep and took a seat at the table just a few seats away from the other occupant, eyes flicking to the old clock that sat above the bench._

_03:48_

_“Morning,” He said quietly._

_“Good Morning Charlie,” She responded in a matched tone before returning to the book in front of her. Charlie found his eyes skimming the page from afar, wondering why she was reading up on werewolves at this time of night._

_There was a blissful moment of silence between the two, and for a moment Charlie almost forgot what had plagued his mind. At once it came crashing back to him, leaving him breathless as the bubble of anxiety in his chest burst. He let out a low sigh, as if breathing out would erase the sudden panic that had grasped him._

_He felt Hermione’s eyes, but the witch said nothing, for which he was thankful. His eyes flicked across the wooden table, tracing each groove and knot while he steadied his breathing._

_The pull at his chest eased slightly and there was another beat of silence before Charlie felt his mouth open. “I’m leaving the Reserve,” he said before he could stop himself. It was surprising for him to hear the thought out loud, not that it changed the sentiment._

_“Oh?” Hermione asked softly. Her head turned to him quickly, textbook momentarily forgotten. He caught the look of surprise behind her knitted brows._

_Charlie nodded, “Yes. And actually, you’re the first to know. I’ll be telling mum in the morning, and the rest soon. I’ve sent off my letter to the Reserve and requested they send along my things.”_

_Hermione regarded him a moment, brown eyes searching. She opened her mouth briefly before closing it, deep in thought. Finally she spoke, “Are you sure?”_

_“Definitely,” Charlie said with a nod. “I’ve missed far too much as it is, and I’ll be damned if I’m not here when my family needs me the most.”_

_It clicked then, for Hermione, what he was alluding too. The same path of survivor’s guilt she fought every second of every day. “You were right were your family needed you Charlie. You were recruiting for our cause and keeping Voldemort from getting his hands on the dragons…”_

_“Perhaps at one time, but I should have come home sooner and joined the fight.”_

_“Playing the what-if game won’t do you any favors you know,” Hermione replied. “It will drive you mad.”_

_Charlie raised an eyebrow at her, “Speaking from experience?”_

_Hermione was quiet and only offered a fraction of a head nod. Her face was guarded, but her eyes told him all he needed to know about her own war going on inside her mind._

_“There are many things I regret about this war, but—” Her voice caught. Swallowing thickly, he watched as she blinked back the glistening tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes. “I—I wouldn’t change a single one of them.”_

_The gravity of her statement wasn’t lost on him, but he’d made up his mind about leaving the Reserve days ago. There was no turning back, not now at least._

_“What’ll you do then? When you are back home?” She asked him, desperate to get the topic away from her._

_Charlie looked at her curiously, but didn’t press the subject. After all they were practically strangers, despite the frequent early morning tea’s they shared. It wasn’t his place to pry, no matter how much he wanted to let her know she could trust him._

_And besides, the beauty of this late night tea sessions was that there was no pressure to talk or relive their nightmares._

_“Writing,” he said easily. “I’ve been talking with an old acquaintance from Hogwarts and we are going to publish a series of texts on magical creatures.”_

_This was a surprise to the witch, who let out another soft ‘oh’._

_Charlie chuckled, “You know some Weasley’s are rather studious.”_

_She flashed him a sad smile, her mind recalling the fallen Percy. “It’s not that, I just…”_

_“Are so used to Ron’s brute disregard to anything academic?” Charlie guessed._

_Hermione let out a small laugh and nodded, “I suppose so. What’ll the series’ cover? Besides creatures that is?_

_“Each will be a book devoted to a creature and will cover the factual history of them. Too many books in publication are influenced by politics to show an accurate representation of the creatures.”_

_“Like werewolves,” Hermione replied, holding up her book._

_“Like werewolves,” Charlie agreed._

_“Well, I’ll be the first in line for your book then.” Hermione said as she sat the book down._

_“I’ll have my editor send you an early copy,” Charlie replied with a wink._

_They shared a tired laugh before Charlie decided to head back to his room for one more pitiful attempt at sleep, though they both knew they’d be sitting in the same spot tomorrow morning._

-.-.-

As he strolled down the cobblestone street that connected Diagon Alley with Horizontal Alley, Charlie marveled at how much had changed over the course of the last five years following the end of the war. Many shops hadn’t changed, but the new shops and café’s that had replaced shuttered businesses throughout the years were booming, full of a bustling crowd of witches and wizards no longer afraid to leave their homes.

The storefronts had been updated with vibrant colors and magnificently charmed signs. Personally, his favorite would always be the new Hopping Pot sign—a cauldron that would hop about the frame in a whimsical manner. Simple, yet it hit a bit of nostalgia, sending him back to a time when his father would charm random objects in the kitchen to entertain the lot of them. Or more importantly, distracted them from disturbing their mother as she danced about the kitchen finishing dinner for the crowd.

There was a long, sad pang that struck through him then. He wasn’t sure what he missed the most, the simplicity of his childhood in that one, singular moment, or the father and brother that he lost in the war. Those memories were forever tainted by the reality that two of the people in them were no longer there to make new memories with.

There was a small voice in his mind that said it was the family he mourned and not his childhood, and in that moment he agreed. It didn’t seem fair that on the very day they had their family whole again they were ripped apart—casualties of war. Percy had died protecting Fred and George in a blast, though as Ron recounted it, they were sure to have lost them both.

And his father, so strong and brave, gone in the final moments before Voldemort had unceremoniously waltzed into their battle zone, a dead Harry in tow. It wasn’t until later when he sat beside a grieving Tonks did he learn that Remus and his father went out together, saving a young Lavender Brown and Michael Corner from being ravaged by members of Greyback’s pack.

_How fitting that he took that bastard with him,_ Charlie thought. The world was a much better place with Fenrir Greyback dead.

Shaking his head, Charlie cleared those thoughts from his mind. He’d had enough grief to last a lifetime in his short thirty years of existence and he was determined to go five minutes without falling into the past. 

The storefronts weren’t the only things to have changed along the years. Bill had only recently been promoted to Head Curse-breaker at the bank, meaning he’d gone from being knee deep in the dirty work that comprised the day-to-day operations at Gringotts to sitting behind a desk, fielding incoming memos and coordinating curse-breaking efforts. Charlie knew he’d taken it for the pay raise and the more consistent hours, but he also knew that being behind a desk had to be driving his older brother mad.

Fleur had decided to leave the bank shortly after the war and take up a job with the Department of Mysteries as an expert in curse research. After the war the homes of the Death Eaters’ that were captured were seized by the Ministry. One of the first things Kingsley had done was recruit into the department to research the influx of cursed items. Though he wasn’t completely sure he knew what she did, Charlie did know not to bring up the department or fear being lectured on the non-disclosure policies.

The Twins’ shop had taken off even more than before. A year after the war Fred and Angelina had gotten married at the Ministry and had a nice, quiet dinner at the Burrow (quiet by his mum’s standards anyway). Angelina quit her job at the Ministry two years later and had taken over the management side of the joke shop, leaving the twins to the inventing—much to their pleasure.

Ron and Ginny had jumped straight into careers with quidditch, though Ron’s was more unconventional than they’d all imagined. Ginny had opted to forgo her final year at Hogwarts, as had many of the sixth and seventh years, and signed a contract with the Harpies to play on the reserve team. Three years of hard work and she’d worked her way into a starting role, and he couldn’t be more proud of her for it.

Ron had been in the Auror academy for a week when the coach for Puddlemore United approached him with an offer to be a low-level scout. The pay was garbage, but Charlie knew that it was the kind of job that Ron would never be able to pass up—and he was right. In five years Ron had parlayed that job into a role as Advance Scout with Pride of Portree.

And then there was his mum, perhaps the least changed of them all despite having suffered the biggest change. After losing a son and her husband in the war she clung even tighter to the idea of a perfect, tight knit family. She made a habit of Sunday evening dinners at the Burrow in an effort to bring them all closer, to which Fleur immediately took a shine too. In the five years neither Bill, Fleur, or himself missed a single Sunday—even when Victoire was born. The others came and went as their schedule allowed, but Charlie knew it meant the world to his mum to have some variant of her family together in their familial home each week.

He knew it had been hard on her, though she always wore a brave face. So much of her life had been spent alongside his father, raising children and fighting a war that seemingly would never end. She had good days and she had bad, and it was those bad days that had him leaving the reserve for home. He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it, but the guilt of missing out on so much of his family’s lives kept him in the gloomy weather of Britain.

There was a clattering ahead, followed by a round of applause that broke Charlie from his thoughts. He made his way through a gathering of people centered around a tiny stage, paying little attention to the wizard crooning to the crowd.

Finally he’d reached his destination—a tiny pub that was easy to miss. The entrance was down a short flight of stairs just off to the side of the alley, and if it weren’t for the bright green door placard that read “The Pitch”, it was easy to mistake as a basement flat.

Inside the pub there were only a handful of patrons scattered about. The pub itself was themed around sports—magical and muggle alike. There were flags of football clubs, pennants from various quidditch teams, even a rogue baseball item here and there. Charlie found he rather liked the décor as it was a far cry from the dingy likes of the Leaky Cauldron, and as it wasn’t a main entrance to the magical shopping alley’s, it was far less trafficked.

He slid into an empty stool at the bar, nodding to the barkeeper slightly. “Draft of the day, please.”

The man nodded, a pleasant smile dancing across his face as he flicked his wand at a nearby pint glass. Charlie watched the glass float towards the far end of the bar, settle itself under the awaiting tap, and tip ever so slightly as the beer poured itself into the glass.

As the glass slid in front of him, a woman slid onto the stool beside him. Charlie turned to greet the new comer and was surprised when he was met with a familiar face.

“Hermione!” He said with a grin, “Robards let you out?”

The woman let out a short laugh, brown locks bouncing. “Hardly. I’ve pulled weekend duty, again.”

“This is what, the fourth week?” Charlie asked, taking a long draw from his pint glass. He gently sat the glass back on the bar top and hooked a leg around the stool, turning towards the woman,

“Fifth,” She replied in disdain, eagerly taking a sip of the drink the barkeeper set before her. “I’m beginning to think I’m going to have to call in the reserves and send your mum after him. I really miss Sunday dinner.”

He was surprised to see her in the pub, though not because of the location. Charlie knew this was one of her favorites, as it was his, and that she frequented the establishment when she could escape the Ministry. She’d been practically holed up there for the better part of a month, perhaps longer if he thought hard enough about it.

“And we all miss you,” Charlie replied easily. “Teddy said as much this morning when Tonks dropped him by the burrow.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked, “Is your mum watching him now too?”

Charlie nodded, “He and Victoire get along well, and Andromeda took a Director position over the Poisons unit at St. Mungo’s, so she’s almost always at the hospital these days. Mum has them in the mornings before they go to the tutor in Hogsmeade.”

Hermione let out a low whistle, impressed and sad that she’d only just found out. Mentally she made a note to send Andromeda a letter when she got back to her flat. Internally she cursed at Robards for the constant weekend duty, wishing she hadn’t been missing her friends as much as she were.

She took another quick sip of the glass and slipped a hand into her pocket. She fumbled about for a few moments before producing a small handful of coins, leaving them in a pile beside her glass.

Charlie raised an eyebrow, “Big tipper?”

Hermione shrugged, idly fidgeting with her glass. “Considering I practically live in this place I consider it my share of the rent.”

“My best tenant,” The barkeep said happily as he slid the coins into his awaiting hand. “Hardly a noise complaint.”

“Lately,” Hermione admitted. “I’m still sorry about the raid—”

“Raid?” Charlie asked, his curiosity peaked. He was beginning to wonder how much had gone on since their last chat.

“Technically not a raid,” Hermione clarified, waving one finger in the air. “We were after a bloke smuggling in potion ingredients to Knockturn Alley. The man was daft enough to stop by for a celebratory pint when we nabbed him, but he wanted to go out with a fight.”

From the other end of the bar the barkeep chuckled and pointed up towards the ceiling. Charlie followed his finger to find scorch marks marring the dark stain.

“Damn,” He breathed, impressed.

“You should have seen the burns on my arm,” She replied flippantly. “One of the recruits hit him with a rather nasty conjunctivitis hex and he started shooting off at random. Bloody idiot.”

“How’s the arm now?”

“Oh it was healed up the next day after I stopped by to see your mum. That woman is a miracle worker when it comes to healing,” Hermione replied with a smile.

“Not much of a choice when you are raising two wild children like the Twins.”

Hermione raised her glass to him in a mock toast. She took a long drink, savoring the sharp taste on her tongue. She cast a sideways glance at the man beside her, watching as his eyes never left her. There was a sense of familiarity in his look that brought comfort to her mind after the long week she’d had.

_I forgot how much I’d missed this_ , she mused to herself as she took another sip of her whiskey.

“What brings you in? Aren’t you supposed to be lost in your book or something?” Hermione asked him finally.

Charlie’s face broke out into a grin. As was common with his writing habits, especially now that he was on his fourth published book, he would tend to get fully absorbed in his writing and neglect the outside world. Truthfully it was far too easy to fall into his research and often he’d forget that he was supposed to be writing a book and not a report for the Reserve.

“Occasionally I break free of my editor,” Charlie replied casually, though Hermione knew full well that the man that doubled as his co-author and editor was the one reminding Charlie to take a break from the book every now and again. “Though it just so happens that I’m meeting the rest of my clan over at the Twins’ shop after it closes to plan our Mother’s Day celebration.”

Hermione nodded slowly, and for the briefest of moments Charlie saw a flash of sadness cross her face. Mentally he cursed at himself for so casually mentioning the holiday, knowing it had to be hard on the witch. The look was gone as fast as it came and before he could prod, Hermione had begun speaking.

“Any ideas on what you are doing for her? I’ll chip in—she’s been like a mother to me for years now.”

“That’s why we are meeting. I’m fresh out of ideas that aren’t cooking or knitting related. We’ll have the usual group gift and everyone else will be getting something over their own, but I haven’t a bleeding clue what to do for her.”

“I think a nice dinner with you all might suffice,” Hermione offered. “Nothing beats quality time with your family.” Her gaze fell towards the glass she was swirling on the table top. Hermione felt her heart squeeze at her own words, but focused on the amber liquid as it sloshed around in the glass.

The meaning behind her words weren’t lost on Charlie, though he knew better than to pry in public. Instead he opted to file that particular look away for a more private talk.

“Dinner is a given,” Charlie said quietly, “and she’ll be thrilled to have you if Robards lays off.”

“What about a pet?” She asked, trying to change the subject before Charlie could point out how she’d successfully ducked the traditional lunch for the past five years.

Charlie opened his mouth and closed it again, cocking his head slightly as he mulled over the proposal.

“You could get her a dog—oh! A Crup! They’re incredibly intelligent and fiercely loyal…’

“You know, that’s not a half bad idea. It could even help her with the gnomes and the chickens,” Charlie replied looking thoughtful.

“Or you could get her a photo album,” Hermione mused thoughtfully. “An updated one with photos from everyone now that you all are grown. Maybe even a few pages in memoriam for your dad and Percy?”

Charlie took a swig from his drink and eyed the witch across from. He saw the blush creep into her cheeks as she began to downplay the idea, but Charlie cut her off with a wave of his hand. “That’s bloody brilliant you know—that can be the group gift.”

Hermione’s response was interrupted by the sound of the pub door hitting the chime, followed by a deep, booming voice.

“Granger, you aren’t going to like this…”

Together the two turned their attention to the newcomer. Charlie recognized the tall, dark complected man at once (despite the man having a significantly longer hair style than the last time he’d seen him). Beside him Hermione groaned and tossed back the last of her drink.

“It’s been thirty bloody minutes!” She exclaimed woefully.

“Forty-seven, actually.”

“Zabini,” She responded in warning. Across from her the man rolled his eyes as he adjusted his crimson robes.

“Good to see you Zabini,” Charlie said as he offered the younger man a hand.

Zabini shook it quickly and offered him an apologetic look, “Sorry to break up date time, but—”

“Not a date,” Hermione said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“We’ve got a bit of a situation at headquarters and I need to steal Granger away.” Zabini continued, ignoring Hermione.

“Well, off you are then. We were just having a bit of a catch up, though I need to be on my way soon too.” Charlie said with a shrug as he turned to Hermione.

“Oh, remembered I was here did you? I can—”

“Granger.” Zabini said impatiently, arms crossing. Hermione shot him a dark look, one that he returned with ease. Finally, she conceded, mentally cursing whatever deity was listening for ruining another evening with work. 

As if he could read her mind, the bartender slipped her a glass of water and a sympathetic smile. “I didn’t even get a chance to get proper smashed,” She lamented before downing the water. With a sigh she pushed herself from the stool and waved a hand towards the door. “I’ll see you around Charlie. Let me know what I can do to help for Mother’s Day!”

Charlie waved as she disappeared through the door, her tall counterpart nearly dragging her out. With a shake of his head Charlie took one final swig of his draft and left a stack of coins beside the half-drunk pint. In a few strides he’d made it out of the pub and back onto the bustling street, ready to make his way back to the Twins’ Shop.

-.-.-

_Outside The Pitch_

Hermione wrenched her arm away from Blaise’s grip. “I can walk just fine.”

“It’s not your ability to walk so much as it’s the pace,” Blaise replied with another eye roll. The smirk on his face betrayed his feigned annoyance, prompting her to scowl even further. “We need to get back to headquarters as soon as possible, but we need to make a quick stop. And what’s this about Mother’s Day?”

“Where?” Hermione asked, pulling her shrunken Auror Robes from the pocket of her trousers. She quickly returned them to their normal size and shrugged on the familiar, brilliant red cloth. “Also, Mother’s Day is in two weeks so I’d be arranging a floral delivery if I were you.”

“Your flat—I need to debrief you before we walk into the fray.” Blaise responded. “And I think my mother would prefer a fruit and wine basket.”

Hermione stopped and pulled Blaise to the side of the street and into a small nook between a floral shop and a cutlery store. “What the hell happened in the forty-seven minutes I was gone?”

Blaise shook his head, “Not here.”

Hermione searched his face, looking for a tell and hoping this was an elaborate prank. Instead the face of her partner for the last five years remained stoic and exhausted, no doubt mirroring her own. With a sigh she pulled the small silver chain from around her neck, using her magic to expand the chain until it was just long enough to toss over Blaise’s neck.

“Home,” she whispered, bracing herself for the familiar tug of a portkey.

The swirl of colors that danced around her eyes quickly slowed into the familiar layout of her den. The chain quickly shrunk into itself, returning to the hidden spot beneath her clothing.

“That’s your new password?” Blaise asked with a hint of disbelief.

“It’s voice activated and I need to be clutching the chain.” Hermione explained as if it were obvious.

“Right…” Blaise said, leaning against the door frame that led into the main hall of her flat.

“Debrief?” Hermione asked.

Blaise nodded and fished an elastic band from the pocket of his robes. In one quick motion he’d wrapped his long dreadlocks with the elastic, securing them behind his head. He allowed another brief beat of silence before he jumped into the topic. “We’ve got a serial killer on our hands.”

“Excuse me?”

“Targeting muggles, though seemingly random and across numerous countries, the last five victims have been in and around London proper.”

“What makes it ours?” Hermione asked, arms folded as she sat on the arm of one of the chairs flanking the fireplace.

“There is quite literally no cause of death that is discernable. Each person was chalked up to natural causes, though they’re all young in age and have no obvious ailments.”

“How many?”

“Thirteen as of this morning, three in one go.” Blaise replied solemnly.

Hermione closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself for the case, though she knew it would be no use. She learned early on that every case that came through the Investigative unit was bound to be horrid and complex, no matter how much she prepared for it.

“How many on the case?”

“Four—us, Potter, and Tonks.”

“Tonks? I thought—”

“The Minister specifically asked for this crew, overriding Robards.” Blaise responded, cutting her off. “He was going to have Lightfoot and Andrews take it.”

Hermione let out a soft ‘oh’ in understanding, immediately understanding the implications of the Minister intervening on the investigation and calling the shots. “What is the over-under on when he’s canned?”

Blaise shrugged, “I say sooner than later—you missed a hell of a fireworks show after the Minister left his office.”

“Kingsley was in the DMLE?!”

“Yes, and almost immediately summoned Robards away again. Everyone is on eggshells and we have a murder board to set up.”

Hermione shook her head and stood from the arm of the chair. “Bugger me. Alright, let’s get to it then—I imagine we’ll need to coordinate with the muggles to get all their files.”

“The Minister had them delivered shortly after you left. Harry and Tonks are on their way in and we can go from there.”

“To the floo,” Hermione said gesturing to the squat pot on the mantle beside her.


	2. 02

Charlie always marveled at how well the Twins had decorated the exterior of their building—you could nearly see the color scheme and top hat from any vantage point in the shopping area. As the dusk began to settle over the Alley many of the patrons had made their way home. The café’s had long since started pulling in their tables and chairs, prepping for the next day. 

Somewhere a clock began to chime, signaling to him that it was officially closing time for most of the shops around him. Up ahead the open sign on the Twins’ shop flipped itself to the closed side, and the top hat stopped moving about the giant replica of Fred and George’s face. 

“Charlie! Wait up!” A voice called, slightly out of breath. Charlie paused his strides long enough to turn. He welcomed the sight of his older brother, who despite his age and heavy scaring, looked as if he hadn’t aged a day since the war ended. His long hair had long been cut to a more manageable shoulder-length, similar to how he wore his own wavy locks. 

“A bit out of breath, are we?” Charlie said with a smirk. “I think that desk job is beginning to show.” He gestured at Bill’s figure in jest.

Much like the rest of his appearance, Bill hadn’t changed much since the war. He still stood tall and lanky, much like every other Weasley son (excluding himself, he noted). Charlie was the lone son that took more after the Prewett side—though he stood nearly as tall as the rest of them, he was a stockier build. This much better suited for a career with dragons, though he spent more of his days writing text books for education on magical creatures with a co-author from his time at Hogwarts. Where his brothers had slender features, he had muscle from years of wrangling Dragons at the Reserve. 

Bill rolled his eyes, “Shove off. I’d like to know how you’ve kept all that muscle despite having left the reserve five years ago.”

“Manual labor,” Charlie said with a shrug, making sure to subtly flex his arms, much to the amusement of his older brother.

“You chop wood for your stove.” Bill stated with a barking laugh.

“It helps? I can’t help it I’ve got the better metabolism—I think your age is catching up to you. That or all the raw steak Fleur feeds you.”

“I’m only two years older than you Charlie,” Bill reminded him. “And I’ll have you know I have a salad once and a while.”

“You’re bloody ancient.” Charlie remarked as they entered the joke shop, ignoring the salad statement.

“Oi! Read the sign—we’re closed!” 

“Good thing we aren’t here to shop,” Bill responded, craning his neck for his brothers. 

“Bill!” George greeted him, coming around from a display of dark detectors that he’d just finished stocking. “And Charlie—say, aren’t you banned?” 

“For what?” Charlie responded, one eyebrow raised. 

“No George, that’s Ron.” Fred announced from above. He hopped on the bannister and slid down to the landing to greet the eldest of the Weasley’s. 

“Ron hasn’t done a thing,” A bored voice remarked from behind the pay counter. Moments later the familiar sight of their sister stood straight and waved at them, hands full of joke pastries. 

“Oi, what are you doing back there?” George demanded, turning from Bill and Charlie.

“Stocking up,” Ginny said simply as she tucked away few joke pastries into her canvas knapsack. 

“Dear sister, the family discount isn’t free,” said Fred.

Ginny batted her eyelashes at him, “Not even for the sister who never told mum about the time you and George stole her pot—”

“Right, have the pick of the store,” George said hurriedly before disappearing into the stockroom to grab another box of products. 

Fred looked at his sister with a mix of fear and admiration. 

“Gin, what did we say about blackmail?” Charlie asked, the corners of his mouth twitching. 

“Make sure it is worth it.” Ginny stated with confidence before she fell into a fit of giggles. She hopped the counter and launched herself at her two eldest brothers, pulling them into a tight hug. 

“Why didn’t I get that reception?” Fred asked incredulously.

“She clearly loves us more,” Bill explained.

“She only loves you for the products mate,” Charlie offered. Ginny tossed the Twin a look that suggested Charlie was correct before she pulled him into a quick embrace. Fred made sure to give her hair a firm tug as she pulled back. 

The door to the shop opened again, prompting George to shout from the stock room that they were closed.

Having walked in to the shouting, Ron laughed heartily. “I’m amazed he can hear me back there.”

“Oi! Is that an ear joke?” George responded as he re-emerged from the room. He deposited the small box onto the ground beside a display of fanged frisbees and shot Ron an incredulous look. 

“And a rubbish one at that,” Fred concluded. 

“Aren’t you banned?”

“You can’t ban me,” Ron said in protest. “I’m family!”

“What is it with you lot thinking you’ve got the run of the place?” George asked, feigning irritation.   
  
“You know you love it,” Ginny retorted, giving Ron a quick hug. 

Fred chuckled, “Debatable.” He began ushering the group further into the store where George had conjured chairs for them to sit in. 

“Anyone got any grand plans?” Ron asked, plopping into the nearest chair before Ginny could. 

“Prick,” She said softly before climbing over him and into the chair beside him. Ron gave her a half-hearted shove as she went, muttering under his breath. 

“Actually—” Fred began before Bill interrupted him with a stern ‘no’.

“You have no idea what I was going to say,” Fred argued.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s a no.”

Fred opened his mouth and closed it again, “Come to think of it a pet chimera doesn’t seem like such a good idea does it, Georgie?”

George shook his head, “I thought we decided on a Porlock?”

“No, they’re too temperamental.”

“So is a bloody Chimera!” Charlie exclaimed. 

“Oh, what do you know?” George asked dismissively.

“I’m writing a –“ Charlie stopped himself as George cracked a grin and Ginny fell into a fit of giggles. Charlie sighed, “Walked into that one.”

“Such an easy set up.” Fred remarked, shooting his twin a look of triumph. The two shared a quick high-five. Charlie rolled his eyes at the antic, but felt himself smiling just the same. 

Bill cleared his throat, “Can we get back on topic?” His voice sounded stern, though his face betrayed the sentiment. 

“No wonder Victoire walks all over you,” Ron said. Bill shot him a look that suggested where he could shove his opinion. 

“We could update her clock,” George suggested, intervening before Ron and Bill devolved into an argument. 

Bill looked at him with surprise and Charlie tilted his head to the side, considering the idea. 

“What? I can have a serious thought now and then!” George said, defending his idea.

“It is rather brilliant,” Ginny supplied. “We’re all out of the house—well mostly.” Her eyes flitted across to Charlie, to whom she shot a smirk at.

“Just because I still do my laundry over at the Burrow doesn’t mean I’m not out of the house,” Charlie said defensively. 

Bill turned to his younger brother in surprise, “Excuse me? You what? You’re thirty years old!”

“And?” Charlie said hotly, “Everyone in this room save you does it!” 

Bill looked around, completely flabbergasted at the revelation. “Seriously?!”

“I’m always traveling,” Ginny said obviously. Ron quickly mirrored her sentiment.

“Scouting with the Pride has me abroad more than not,” He explained simply.

“You’re joking…” Bill muttered with a shake of his head.

“We all don’t have a wife and kid to do laundry for,” Charlie reminded him. “Though I’m sure if you asked mum would do it in a heartbeat.”

“You lot are taking advantage of our mother you know.” Bill replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I beg to differ,” Charlie replied. “That woman literally showed up to my cabin once a week for a month to make sure I knew what I was doing before practically forcing me to bring it back home because I’d ‘mucked it all up’ or something.” 

“Same,” Ron replied. “Though I think she was more worried I wouldn’t have enough clean boxers while I was out.”

“I will fully admit I’m taking advantage of it—if you could smell the state of robes that Harry brings home,” Ginny said, her face contorting at the thought of the stench. “I’ll never know how mum gets the stench out.” 

“What’s your excuse?” Bill asked, gesturing at Fred and George.

“I think she just pities Katie and Angelina,” Charlie offered. 

Fred nodded, “She knows how well George and I ruin clothing, so she practically took over after Angie and I couldn’t figure out how to stop the acid from ruining all my robes.”

“You could stop using acid,” Ron supplied, narrowly ducking a boxed dark detector that Fred had chucked at his head. 

Ginny reached out and caught the box easily and added it to her knapsack, ignoring the protest from Fred. “Can we get back on topic? As much as I love our get togethers, I’ve got to be over at our reserve keeper’s place in twenty to go over strategies for tomorrows match against the Cannons.”

“Reserve?” Charlie asked.

“Barron tore up her shoulder,” Ron replied before Ginny could. 

Ginny glared at the brother to her side, “The reserve doesn’t even know yet!”

Ron shrugged and shot her a mischievous grin. Ginny muttered a few derogatory terms about opposing scouts, but dropped the subject as Bill began to speak.

“Switching up the clock would be relatively easy—I could split the Burrow into ‘Home’ and ‘Burrow’ to show when we are at our respective places or at the burrow.”

“You know, Hermione had a brilliant idea earlier,” Charlie said. “Not that the clock isn’t brilliant, but I think we can pair it with her idea.”

There was a pause in the room before Fred finally broke the silence. “Since when are you spending alone time with Hermione?”

Puzzled, Charlie shook his head. “I’m not. Well, not technically I suppose, though we did have drinks earlier…” 

He didn’t admit that they did on occasion have late night conversations about life and the war—a routine adopted shortly after the war as a means of coping. It was their shared secret, not that they were ashamed. They’d found a common ground where they could simply just be in each other’s presence. There was no pressure to speak about what was on their mind, and there was no judgement when those thoughts were voiced. 

He thought back to those first few nights, sitting in the kitchen of his childhood home while sipping on a steaming cup of tea. They’d sit in silence and finding comfort in knowing they weren’t alone in the post-war fight. As time went on and their lives grew in separate ways, they still found the bouts of insomnia too great, and on those nights they’d meet and simply exist together. And although it had been months since their last meeting (due to his deadlines and her demanding schedule), seeing her tonight was as if it had only been hours since they’d last met. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but life seemed easier in her presence. 

He was thankful for her and the affect she had on him when they did find themselves with each other’s company. Sometimes there would be conversation, other times he’d fall asleep on her couch and she on his without uttering a single word. 

The decision to keep it quiet was made so they didn’t have to field questions about the odd arrangement, or be on the receiving end of pitying looks. Hermione had confided in him she hated the second glances, knowing they were trying to find the crack in her mask in order to push her into talking about things she had no desire to speak of.

Rationally, he knew that it wasn’t healthy for either of them to keep things locked up and out of mind, but if it kept his mind on this side of sanity he wasn’t going to start changing his habits now. 

“Right…” Ron said slowly, pulling Charlie back into reality. 

Charlie rolled his eyes at the reaction, “I popped into the Pitch for a quick pint and happened across her before Zabini drug her back to the office. Considering the amount of time we spend there individually, I was bound to come across her at some point.”

“Probably on the same thing that had Harry running back before I came over,” Ginny remarked. 

“Whatever it was, it must have been important to override Weekend Duty patrols in Hogsmeade,” Charlie replied with a shrug. “Anyway—Hermione suggested an updated photo album with all of us.”

“That’s not a half bad idea,” Bill remarked, looking thoughtful. “Fleur just put one together of Victoire for her parents and they loved it.”

“So it’s settled?” Ginny asked, “You and Fleur will sort out the album and in two weeks’ time on Sunday we’ll go ahead and plan on dinner and presents? Everyone bringing their own gifts as well?” She was met with a collective agreement. Feeling satisfied that they’d sorted out the holiday, she began to collect her bag. 

“Yes, George and I have a collaborative gift in mind.” Fred responded.

“If anyone picks up that cauldron set she’s been moaning about since Christmas I will castrate you,” Ginny warned, standing from her chair. 

“Guess I’ll be taking that back…” Charlie said jokingly as Bill stood to leave with her. Ginny tossed him a rueful look that she followed up with by sticking her tongue out.

“What’ve you got in mind, Charlie?” Ron asked as they began their goodbyes. 

“Not a clue, but I reckon I’ll figure it out soon.” Charlie responded, opting to keep Hermione’s suggestion for a pet close to his chest. 

“Same to be honest—I haven’t an idea on what to get the woman. She’s got every cook book known to man and already has every Celestina Warbeck record.”

“Too right,” Charlie responded with a laugh.

As Charlie and Ron made their way to the front to exit, Fred huffed behind them. “Oh, I see how it is—you lot waltz in and George and I bend over backwards to accommodate the ungrateful fiends you are!”

“Not even an offer to clean up, Fred!” George said, matching the feigned outrage.

Charlie smirked at them and swatted at a small display of Pigmy Puff food on his way out, knocking it to the floor. He and Ron were only steps away from the shop when George stuck his head out after them.

“Banned!” He called after them, causing Ron to dissolve into a fit of laughter. 

-.-.- 

Hermione and Blaise exited the on the fourth floor on the ministry—the second of three that belonged to the DMLE as a whole. This floor housed all the Investigative Aurors and the analysts that accompanied them, as well as served as the main hub for Robards and each office of the senior Aurors.

They made a short journey to the main conference room that had been repurposed as their main bullpen. Already Harry and Tonks had the room set up with a few marker boards and had begun sorting through the towering pile of evidence boxes. 

Hermione greeted the duo, immediately pointing her wand at the closest marker board to begin pinning up photos of each victim and key facts about their lives. Blaise took too helping Harry move boxes from the cart near the door while Tonks waved her wand at the far wall, greatly expanding the length of the room to accommodate the mountain of evidence. 

They worked in mostly silence for a few minutes to get the room set up to their normal standards. The silence was something of a comfort for the Aurors. It gave them each time to prepare themselves for the case, but for Hermione in particular it gave her time to compose herself. 

The end of the war was supposed to signify the end of tumultuous times, though from her experience the turmoil never truly ended. Going from being on the run to being in a home without the threat of someone hunting her was a challenge of its own, and she’d spent many a night in the early months waking in a cold sweat in a fully lit room. Between the nightmares and constant sense that she was being watched, the panic and anxiety that came nearly drove her insane. 

She learned to cope from the only way she knew how—finding something to obsess over, to research, to decode. Unfortunately for her, that something had initially been restoring her parent’s memories, a feat that proved too much. Perhaps for the first time since the day she’d found out she were a witch Hermione hated her magic. For all the good it could do, she couldn’t use it for the one thing she desired the most. 

After four straight days of researching Harry laced her tea with a dose of Dreamless Sleep. She slept for a full day, unaware of just how far she’d pushed her body. He and Ron had taken turns staying by her side as she succumbed to the reality that she wasn’t going to bring her parents back. 

Once again she’d found herself feeling lost, as if she were wondering without a purpose. There were no more projects in her life, nothing left to fix (except for herself). Hermione recalled accepting the offer Kingsley had given her to start a job in the Department of Mysteries, interning in the various departments until she found her fit. She hadn’t made it through three hours before she marched down to the third floor of the DMLE and registered her name for the Auror Academy starting that fall. 

Her first day was a nightmare—she’d tried too hard to prove she belonged there beside Harry and Ron. She spent more time alienating herself and relied too heavily on what she’d learned on the run. When they paired her with Zabini she was sure they were trying to get her to quit. 

They fought regularly; she was sure he was going to sabotage her and he was sure she was going to get him kicked out by association. Hermione could still vividly recall the day when Blaise had stopped in the middle of their fitness training and demanded she either quit or respect that he was there to be an Auror just as she was. The row that followed was heated, each throwing out things they’d later grow to regret. It was therapeutic in its own way, because once the vitriol was done being spewed the two had finished out their training as if nothing ever happened.

They’d grown close in the way partners who spend nearly every waking moment together would, and often she found herself glad for his company. He was arrogant, obnoxious, and completely full of himself—but he was also incredibly thoughtful and sweet when he’d wanted to be. He knew when she needed her tea fix, and she knew when he needed food to stifle his bad moods. 

It wasn’t really much of a surprise when Blaise made them stop at the café cart in the entrance to the Ministry to get a drink for her and a snack for him. 

The last few weeks had been grating on her. She couldn’t remember the last day off she’d had, but even before the last five weeks of weekend duty her nerves had been on edge. 

Ever since that damn Rosier Raid, she thought miserably. 

That raid in particular was horrible in every possible way, and it didn’t help that it was the first case that she and Blaise had worked on in the Investigative unit. Minister Shacklebolt had hand-picked them for the case once he’d found out that the Head of the DMLE, Robards, had essentially been sitting on it for the better part of a decade (long before the war had ended). She supposed it was this act of promotion that put a mark on her and Blaise’s heads. 

It had taken a month of nonstop working, but she and Blaise had finally cracked the case. The fleeting feeling of accomplishment had vanished the minute they’d appeared in the Rosier Manor, completely unprepared for what they’d see. 

“Wotcher,” Tonks said softly beside her, pulling her from her thoughts. Hermione suppressed the urge to jump at the sudden noise.

“Tonks! How are—”

“Fine,” She interrupted with a smile. “Mostly, I think. I’ve been thinking about leaving the training department for a while now, I just didn’t imagine it would be like this.”

Hermione nodded in understanding, her voice grim, “I get it. Our first case on the Investigative unit was the Rosier Raid.” 

Tonks grimaced, “I can’t believe how sideways that went, or just how bad it really was.”

“I don’t think any of us were prepared,” Zabini said as he joined them. 

Harry made his way over shortly after, dusting his hands off on his robes. “There’s two more carts of boxes on level one that need to be brought up from the Ministers office, but everything else is ready to go.”

“I’ve got the board set up,” Hermione said as she gestured to the long whiteboard. Thirteen faces stared back at them with a tiny synopsis of their lives pinned underneath. Hermione thought it was rather sad, an entire life summed up to a few lines. 

“That’s interesting,” Blaise said, turning his head sideways slightly. He scanned each of the victims faces for a moment before charming a notepad into a map of the world. With a flick of his wand the map adhered itself to the wall just above the whiteboard. Tiny little dots began to show up on the map in the order of the murders.

“The suspect is moving west to east, jumping continents entirely…” Blaise muttered.

“Narrowing down his pool,” Harry remarked. “The first three in Toronto, two in New York City, three in Ireland, and now five in the London area.”

“The London five are the only ones we know for sure are connected—they’ve all happened in the last month and have the same odd circumstances around them.” Tonks spoke, gesturing at the last five faces. “The analyst team down the hall reckon the others are connected because of the cause of death—well lack thereof—and similarities in the victims, but the dates of the murders date back more than a year.”

Hermione scrunched her face in thought, “I think Harry’s right—the suspect was looking for someone and they’ve hit their stride here in London. The time between victims is becoming shorter meaning they’re getting closer.”

Blaise nodded, “I’ve got a theory I want to flesh out. Tonks, can you and Harry take the crime scene?” 

Tonks nodded, “We’ll head out now, the crew on site should be done processing by now.” 

She and Harry made a quick exit to head to the crime scene while Blaise stepped back from the white board and sat on the long conference table. Hermione joined him, taking in the facts in front of her. 

“I think we are looking for a male,” She said quietly. 

“Evidence points to a poison of some kind, that’s usually a trademark in women killers.” Blaise countered. 

Hermione nodded, “Yes but take a look at all the women up there, notice anything?”

Blaise nodded, “That’s the theory I wanted to flesh out—they all look alike. Not just generic traits either, they could easily pass as members of a family.”

“Surrogates likely,” Hermione said softly. “But for what, I have no idea.”

“I’ll start looking for connections between them and see if anything overlaps,” Blaise said, hopping down from the table and heading to the furthest stack of evidence boxes. 

“It could be a mother looking for a surrogate of a lost daughter,” Blaise mused aloud, not quite ready to give up his theory on the gender of the killer. “Or a long-lost sister looking to seek revenge?”

“It’s certainly possible,” Hermione remarked quietly, mind turning. She could feel the different lines of thought racing through her brain as she made her way towards the door, quickly ducking out of the conference room. Turning slightly, she called over her shoulder. “I’ll run down and get the last of the evidence.” 

If Blaise had a reply it was lost on her ears as she moved further from the conference room and back towards the lifts. 

The journey down to the first floor of the Ministry was a short one. Most of the employees had already made it home for the weekend so she didn’t have to wait long for a lift, though she wasn’t sure she would have minded a wait. The Ministry grew eerie at night without the bustling workforce that patrolled the halls each day. She was always reminded of the time they broke into the Ministry to save Sirius—a memory that sent a shiver down her spine and caused her ribs to ache. 

Though there weren’t any visible marks from Dolohov’s curse, the damage it did internally was immense. While the curse left her with a few fractured ribs, the real issue was how it latched onto her organs and began to slowly shut each one down. She wasn’t sure anyone really knew the true extent of it, but she’ll never forget how Madam Pomphrey comforted her while explaining the possible side effects of the curse, should the potions she was taking prove to be unhelpful in overcoming the damage the curse left her with. 

It had taken several doses of the potions before there was a notable improvement. The pain would stick with her for months, finally dulling to a throbbing ache that remained constant. It was always with her, like an afterthought, only flaring up in times of great stress. 

She shook her head, and idly rubbed at her rib cage, locking that particular set of memories away in the furthest crevice of her mind. 

Turning the last corner that led to the corridor in front of the Minister’s suite she caught sight of a familiar young woman pushing a cart. 

“Cho?”

The woman started turning in surprise. “Hermione?”

“I didn’t know you worked on this floor,” Hermione replied as she closed the gap between them. Her eyes fell to the boxes on the cart, each marked as ‘evidence’.

“I’m the new DMLE liaison for Minister Shacklebolt,” Cho replied. “I’ve been working with the authorities from Canada and Ireland on the possible cases. The lot of this is the last of your evidence.”

Hermione gave her a grateful look. “Fantastic, I was just coming down for it.”

“I’ve condensed some of it down by shrinking the boxes and adding them to the bag on the bottom. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go run down a contact for the Romanian Dragon Reserve.” Cho gave her a quick wave and began to head towards the door that led into the Minister’s suite. 

A frown formed on Hermione’s face, “Wait—”

Cho paused and turned; a look of confusion etched on her face. 

“What’s this about the Reserve?” Hermione asked.

“You haven’t heard yet?” Cho asked, surprised. She made her way back over and dropped her voice to a whisper. “With the scene Robards created when the Minister summoned him about it, I would have thought the whole department would be talking about it.”

Hermione shook her head and matched her tone, “I wasn’t in when that happened, but no one’s talking out of fear of being on the receiving end of Robards wrath.” 

Cho looked around to make sure they were alone before continuing, “The Reserve is the fourth one hit, the first two over in Canada and the one in Albania were hit just this last year.” 

“What happened?”

“We aren’t really sure. Somehow the dragons got loose and went on a rampage.” 

Hermione let out a soft ‘oh’ before taking a deep breath, “Any casualties?”

Cho nodded sadly, “Of the fifteen employed at the Reserve ten are alive at St. Mungo’s receiving treatment. Five didn’t make it out…”

There was a moment of silence that passed between them before Hermione broke it. “You know, if you want an expert on the Reserve you ought to reach out to Charlie Weasley.”

“Really?” Cho asked.

Hermione nodded, “He worked there for years before he started publishing his texts on magical creatures. In fact, he and Bill Weasley spent some time at the Reserve over the Christmas Holidays to strengthen the wards.” 

Cho gave her a look of appreciation, “I owe you one Hermione, truly. I was going to have to walk into St. Mungo’s and interview those poor witches and wizards while they get treated. The last thing they’d want to do is talk to a Ministry official…”

Hermione nodded, “Believe me, I understand.”

Cho excused herself and bid goodbye, leaving Hermione alone in the hall with a cart full of evidence boxes. As she made her way back to the lifts a clock begun to chime. As the last chime struck, Hermione glanced at her watch—21:00—and decided they were in for a late night. 


	3. 03

Harry and Tonks landed a few houses down from the crime scene under a heavy Disillusionment spell. As soon as they’d crossed the temporary ward that surrounded the home and property the spell wore off and together they entered the scene. 

It was a plain house, decorated in a minimalistic fashion, suggesting to Harry that either the woman who owned the home didn’t like much décor, or she didn’t fancy this as her permanent home. Once they entered the home a young analyst greeted them and pointed them towards the den. 

“That’s the main crime scene. We’re almost done processing the rest of the place,” the wizard said. 

“Thanks Evans,” Tonks replied as he turned to head back up the stairs to the rest of his team. 

Harry glanced around the den, taking in the scene. A small pass-through window gave him a view of a kitchen where takeaway containers still sat on the counter. The den itself was decorated much like the rest of the home—void of color and design, something he’d expect out of a bachelor pad. 

“Oddly bare for a woman who’s owned the place for three years,” Tonks remarked, eyeing the place. 

Harry nodded, “I had the same thought. No photographs, awards, or anything of note. Looks almost…”

“Staged,” Tonks finished for him. 

There was a light knock from the front door followed by an older gentleman entering the den. The man was short and had a round face that was accentuated by the high-collared duster he wore. 

“Inspector Clemmons,” The man spoke jovially, holding a hand out towards Harry. 

Harry returned the handshake and watched as the man extended a hand to Tonks.

“Greetings aside, I wanted to give you a quick run down on the case.” Inspector Clemmons said. “The three victims were found at 08:30 this morning when the dog walker arrived to take the first victim’s dog on its daily walk.”

“Where is the dog now?” Harry asked

“With the walker—he’d been kept out back all night and didn’t prove to be much insight on the suspect.” 

“What can you tell us of the victims?” Tonks asked, moving slowly around the room, inspecting items as she went. 

“The first victim was Penelope Graves, the owner of this place. She was twenty-five and has no relatives on file—in fact there doesn’t seem to be much on her, if I’m being honest.” The man made a face of confusion, though Harry and Tonks shared a curious look. “Once we did a sweep of the place it began to check all the boxes of the other two cases and we knew to call you in.

“Your lot did a bunch of…things,” He said carefully, unsure of how to describe what he’d seen. “DNA confirmed a familial relation to the second victim, a Poppy Cooke. Your analyst fellow—what’s his name—”

“Evans,” Tonks supplied. 

The Inspector gave her a grateful look, “Evans, nice bloke. He reckons that at most they appear to be half-siblings. The male is the husband of the second victim, an Oliver Cooke. They’d been married all of a year and by the identification cards on their persons, they hail from Falmouth. Keycards in their pocket confirmed an extended stay a hotel a few kilometers away.”

“We ought to get a crew out to the hotel then,” Harry replied. 

“That Evans fellow said as much, I think they’ve already got a group over there as we speak.” 

“Anything you can tell us about the other victims?” asked Harry. 

“They all had the same manner of death—one second they’re breathing and the next they’re just dead. Our autopsies haven’t revealed any abnormalities in their organs, at least on a non-magical level.” The Inspector admitted, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I may not be familiar enough with your world, but I’ve seen enough dead bodies to know this isn’t natural, no matter what my best examiners say. Toxicology revealed nothing, for what it’s worth.” 

Tonks paused in front of a record cabinet and gently opened the top to thumb through the records. “I’ll have to agree Inspector Clemmons, but most peculiar is the fact that haven’t been any traces of magic on the bodies. Now that we’ve been on scene from the jump we should be able to—” 

She paused, and pulled out a record. “Holy shit,” She muttered. 

Harry made his way over to her, eyes widening in surprise when he saw the moving cover of the latest Weird Sister’s album. 

Turning he cast his wand in a sweeping motion, lightly muttering a “Finite”. Slowly a ripple of magic washed over the walls of the home and where there were once bare walls, dozens of picture frames began to appear, each with a different moving picture. 

From the center of the room Inspector Clemmons let out a surprised gasp, eyes growing wide. “She’s one of yours…”

Tonks nodded, “She’s been hiding her life for a while now, probably for this half-sister. That’s why it looks so bare for having been lived in for three years. This opens up a whole new line of thought.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” the Inspector said lightly before giving them a curt nod. “Ring me if you need any further details, the evidence should be already at your Ministry.”

The two Aurors bid him goodbye. Harry looked about the room, this time with a more intense eye. “If I’m hiding something this big from my family, I clearly haven’t told them about who I really am.”

“If Penelope was a half sibling, we could be looking at a ‘new found sibling’ thing,” Tonks responded before calling for Evans to return downstairs. 

The young wizard poked his head into the room and groaned, “You have to be shitting me…”

“’Fraid not,” Tonks responded with a smirk. “Oh, and while you are at it take some of that take-away and get it off to the poison and curse lot.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at her, “Got a hunch?”

“All things point to some kind of poison. No magic on the bodies, meaning they weren’t hit with a curse, but they could have ingested a poison of some kind. What better way than food?”

“Depends on how fast acting—it looks like they ate and sat in the den for a drink. On that thought, Evan’s you ought to take some of that brandy in as well.” 

Evans nodded, “That was already cataloged and bagged since it was in the vicinity of the bodies. I’ll get some samples of the takeaway though.” 

The man disappeared through the doorway into the kitchen and began working on the takeaway boxes. 

“Wonder what else is hiding in here,” Tonks mused.

“Well, I know if I wanted to hide something I’d do it in plain sight.” Harry replied, gently tapping his foot against the wood floors. Tonks shot him a confused look, but Harry simply grinned at her. A few short seconds later Harry stopped tapping his foot and let out a quiet ‘aha!’ before crouching to the floor. Pulling out his wand, he gently levitated the loosened floorboard up to reveal a small, shrunken trunk, a tiny bag, and a long, thin wand box. 

“Jackpot,” he said.

“What the—"

“I reckon I ought to send the Dursley’s a thank you card. If I hadn’t been hiding my shit in floorboards as a kid, I’d never have thought to look here.” Harry replied as he handed Tonks the bag. 

Tonks opened the bag and peered in, pulling out what appeared to be credentials for the French Ministry. 

“Oh fuck,” She said in a low voice, letting out a long whistle. She gently sat the credentials down on the couch beside her and raised her watch to her face. Quickly she pressed the two side buttons, “Tonks to Granger.” 

There was a brief pause as the watch face illuminated, producing a brilliant green glow. After a few more beats of silence smoke began to filter out of the watch, swirling around until it formed a miniature bust of Hermione. 

“Granger in,” the bust spoke, as if it were Hermione’s own face in the room. 

“Tonks here, Potter onsite.” 

“Zabini onsite as well.”

“We’ve got a level ten out here Hermione,” Tonks said into the watch. 

“Brilliant because we’ve got a level ten here as well. You should get back soon.”

“On our way—Hermione.” 

“Yes?”

“Send word to the minister that one of our latest victims, Penelope Graves is—“

“With the French Ministry. The ID just came through our desk.”

Harry let out a low string of curses that Tonks matched. “We’ve got her belongings, the magical ones I mean. I’ll have Evans’ crew give them a once over and send back for us to review.”

“Granger out,” Hermione’s smoky silhouette replied.

“Tonks out.”

“Well this got a lot more fucked didn’t it?” Harry said with a sigh. 

-.-.-

Cho Chang had been in the Ministry for the past five years, starting off as a low-level secretary in the Department of Magical Creatures before transferring over into the Minister’s level. She’d slowly worked her way up the ranks before being offered the position as the second liaison for the Minister’s affairs. Her job was strictly to work alongside the various allied Ministries when it came to any circumstances related to the DMLE.

The job was chaotic, but it was a welcomed chaos as it kept her mind working. It was no secret that the war had been hard on them all, though some more than others. Losing her boyfriend started an avalanche of war-time terrors, but she found it was much easier to move through life with a goal in mind. Having a goal meant less time focusing on the bad, and for the most part her busy work-life was keeping her sanity, even if it would be the death of her. 

This Friday had been no different, from being read in on the possible serial killer, to having to fan fires with the DMLE head, to now having to track down someone with any knowledge on Dragon Reserves.

It was peculiar, she thought, that this was the fourth Reserve that had a massive traumatic event. Of the four this was certainly the deadliest, with two more succumbing to their injuries at the hospital. 

She was thankful for the tip Hermione had given her—the thought of having to interrogate those victims in the hospital while they processed the horrors of the day nearly made her sick. Instead she’d sent off an emergency owl requesting that Charlie Weasley meet her in the Minister’s suite as soon as he was able, though she noted she would be leaving the ministry by midnight. 

The clock on the wall read 22:04, and she was worried the owl had gotten there too late. Had it not been for the urgency in which the Minister had requested her investigation to begin, she would have owled him in the morning. 

Sitting at her desk, Cho tapped the feathered end of her quill against her parchment, eyes wandering the haphazardly written notes. As a student this would have drove her mad, but the demand of her job now didn’t afford the luxuries of perfect note taking. 

She knew there was a pattern to be seen, but she wasn’t sure where to find that pattern. Her hope lay with Charlie and any insight he could give her on how the dragons got out of their protected areas. Cho wasn’t afraid to admit she knew very little of dragons, and knew even less about the different reserves and their set ups. She’d only ever seen how the dragons were transported during the Triwizard tournament, and she could only hope that wasn’t industry standard. 

Her line of thought was disrupted by the sound of the lift chiming. 

“Hello?” The deep, masculine voice sounded at the open door of the Minister’s suite. 

Cho glanced over at the man, instantly recognizing the freckled face as that of a Weasley (though she did marvel at how tan the man appeared when compared to his familial counterparts). It occurred to her then that she wasn’t sure she’d ever actually seen Charlie outside of the final battle. 

Standing she gestured for him to sit at the empty chair across from her desk. 

“Sorry for the short notice, I’m Cho Chang.” 

Charlie crossed into the room and nodded, “Right. I’ve heard of you, some.”

Cho fought the blush that threatened her cheeks, “Hopefully good. Though school was…rough.”

“I don’t put a lot of stalk into school aged drama, if that’s what you mean,” Charlie said easily. “What can I do for you? Your letter said it was urgent.”

Cho nodded, “There’s been an incident at the Romanian Reserve.”

She watched Charlie’s demeanor change from relaxed to tense, worry etched onto his face for the briefest of moments. 

“The enchantments around the dragon’s areas were breached and…” She trailed off, unsure of how to continue. 

Charlie met her eyes, “I can only assume the worst.” 

“I’m sorry,” She said quietly. “The Minister wants an immediate investigation as this is the fourth one in the last year.”

Charlie sat back and ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath of air. “Last I talked to the Reserve was on Boxing Day. Bill and I helped strengthen the wards around the Reserve. They made no mention of other incidents.” 

“Two in Canada, one in Albania. All isolated and not nearly on the scale of this one.” Cho remarked. “In fact there are more casualties in this incident than the other three combined. The Minister is concerned there is a pattern here, and since the Ministry has taken a more active role in the Romanian Reserve since the war he felt it prudent to look into it.” 

Charlie closed his eyes a moment, desperately trying to compose himself. Cho felt terrible for having to break the news to him this way, knowing the man had lost a number of former work acquaintances (and with what little knowledge she had on the Reserves, their close-knit nature made it more likely that he’d lost a number of friends). 

“Hermione Granger seemed to think you’d be able to help me with the Ministers task.” Cho said once he’d had a moment to himself. 

“Hermione?” His voice was full of surprise, though Cho could tell by his face that he’d almost expected her to say that. 

“Yes, I ran into her earlier while transferring evidence—sorry that’s not really important right now, is it?”

“No need to apologize,” Charlie responded. “Ask me what you need and then if you’ll agree, I’d like to head to the hospital.”

Cho nodded, “Honestly I just need to know what kind of enchantments were around the living area for the dragons and the boundary that protected the keepers and research team.”

“It’s a combination of wards and runes—the runesare etched in the stone that surrounds the entrance to each dragon enclosure. Just beyond that line there is a ward that keeps all of the dragons enclosed. They aren’t kept strictly in their own enclosures, but with the wards encompassing that part of the reserve the dragons shouldn’t be able to break the boundary into the administrative side.” Cho scribbled furiously to keep up with the wealth of information that Charlie was giving her.   
  
“There is a boundary line where there are stronger wards to protect the offices and residences, but between the two is a bit of ‘no mans land’ if you will,” Charlie continued. “You can’t have two powerful wards butting up to one another, so there had to be an area between the enclosures and the rest of the reserve.”

“How big is this area?” Cho asked, scribbling furiously across her parchment.

“No more than a few meters,” Charlie said. “Keepers and Researchers often travel by broom across the Reserve due to its size, and because it offers a quick escape if a dragon turns irritable. However, most dragons at that reserve are adults and into advance ages and aren’t prone to random temper flares.” 

Cho paused her scribbling, “So it’s unusual that they would go on a rampage?”

Charlie nodded, “Once a dragon recognizes that the human poses no threat, they’re really no more threat than a dog unless they are sick, in heat, or if they are guarding an egg. As of Boxing day there weren’t any eggs at the reserve, and currently none of the dragons should have been in heat for a few more weeks.”

“Then it’s likely that however the enchantments broke, it wasn’t coincidental.” Cho said, mostly to herself. 

“Knowing that this is the fourth incident, and knowing what I know about Romania and their strict protocols, I think you’re spot on.” Charlie said, running his hand through his hair again. “This didn’t happen by accident, that much I can promise you.”

“How many dragons are there, roughly?” 

“Only nine—one passed last year and the Reserve hadn’t taken on a new dragon yet, at least that’s how it was a few months ago.” 

Cho nodded, hand flashing across the parchment with quickness. She looked from the man back to her parchment after she’d jotted down her thought and felt another pang of guilt. 

Quickly she scribbled the seven names of the victims on a separate piece of parchment and folded it in half. She extended the parchment across the desk towards Charlie, offering him a look of sympathy. “I’m sorry to keep you, I think I’ve got all I need. These are the victims, for when you are ready.” 

Charlie took the parchment, offered her his thanks, and quickly exited the suite. 

Leaning back in her chair Cho found that she had more questions than answers, and was in no way ready to submit a report to the Minister. She took out a wand and tapped the side of her desk, watching as the ripple of magic rolled over the table top and turned it into a real-time map of the ministry. She located the person of interest and watched their movements before tapping the side of her desk once more. Standing, she gently tucked her notes into her robes and set off towards the lifts. 

-.-.-

Blaise Zabini watched his partner thoughtfully from across the room. Five years ago he’d have never guessed the success they would have, how without fail she’d have his back and he’d have hers. Five years ago he was fresh out of the war, having spent the better part of it in the shadows, safe only because of his name. He’d long took a neutral stance in the war, though for his own sanctity more than what his moral compass wanted. 

He recalled the only real conversation he’d ever had with the woman who birthed him. She was a mother by name only, but their relationship made sense in a twisted sort of way. It was only a week after Harry Potter appeared in the middle of the transfigured quidditch pitch clutching the dead body of Cedric Diggory. 

She told him tales of the war, explaining the atrocities that she witnessed. The only thing in life she’d ever truly asked of him was to stay safe and as far from the fight as possible. 

“I lost the one man I truly loved—don’t make me lose another.”

Hearing her experiences put a lot of perspective into his fifteen-year-old brain, and it made him realize that the reason his life was the way it was, was because of Voldemort’s rein. He’d faded into the shadows, head down and focusing on his studies as much as his mind would let him. 

As the war waged on this became a trying stance to take, and he would be lying if he didn’t regret not entering the fray before that final battle at Hogwarts. He often wondered how many lives he could have saved, if he’d just defied his mother’s wishes. 

A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him of the efforts that he did make, towards the end. His seventh year was spent in the shadows, distracting the Carrow twins at every chance, pulling them from their favorite past time of torture. He’d formed a bond with most of the portraits and was able to sneak through the castle undetected thanks to them, but he wasn’t sure what he was doing was good enough.

So, at the ripe age of seventeen in the midst of spell fire, he decided that if he made it out alive he’d put in his name for the Auror academy. Right a few wrongs, or at least that was the sentiment. 

There was no secret he and Hermione fought viciously at first, but against the odds they’d actually grown quite close. She knew his ticks, he knew her tells. 

For instance, he knew she was close to breaking. Five straight weeks without a single day off was grating on even the most grizzled of Aurors, but this case was presenting a challenge to them all and it hadn’t even been a full shift of investigation. 

The way she chewed on her bottom lip, the repeated sighs, and the messy top-knot she’d haphazardly tied her hair in were a clue to him that she was in desperate need of a break from their job. To the outside eye you’d see an exhausted Auror, but to him he knew there was a battle raging inside her mind that she wasn’t ready to share. 

That was what made their partnership so solid—each knew that the other would be there to listen regardless of the time. Regardless of what was going on inside their mind. But they respected the boundaries. 

Blaise could only hope that she would come to him before the breakdown. His mind’s eye flashed to the last time she broke, just a year prior. Mother’s Day, if he recalled correctly. He’d known she was close, but trusted she would reach out like she always did. There was a nagging feeling the entirety of Saturday leading into the holiday, and by noon on Sunday he’d popped over to her place. 

He found her huddled on the ground in front of the fire, just staring, eyes glazed over. She hadn’t heard him come in, but the second he sat beside her on the hard floor, she’d latched on for dear life. 

“Please be real,” she’d whispered, terrified he was another figment of her imagination. 

He’d held her for hours before she seemed to slip back into reality. There was confusion at first, then shame. Blaise had quickly shut it down, reminding her of their agreement. 

“The nightmares wouldn’t stop…I just kept seeing everyone die all over again.” Her voice had trembled and he’d comforted her, asking how long it had been since she’d slept. 

She hadn’t been sure, but with a quick deduction she realized it had been two or three days. 

Since then he’d paid close attention to her behavior and asked about her sleep, much to her annoyance. Hermione never asked him to stop, though, seemingly understanding that she needed the help. 

There was a knock at the door, bringing him back to reality. To his astonishment, Draco Malfoy stood at the door looking cross. 

“Do pick up your jaw, Zabini.” The man said. 

“Excuse—” Hermione began, but Blaise cut her off with a chuckle.

“What the fuck are you doing in the Ministry, Malfoy?” 

“I have a bit of an issue that I wanted an expert opinion on, not to intrude.” Draco replied, casting a sideways glance at Hermione. 

The witch crossed her arms, but remained leaned against the table in front of the markerboard. Blaise could see the fire in her eyes as she debated on the next words to come out of her mouth. Rather than let the two begin a verbal spar, Blaise intervened. “What sort of issue?”

Draco glanced between the two, a look of unease passing across his pale features. 

“You know I’m bound to tell her whatever we discuss, so I suggest you get to it.” Blaise said pointedly, moving across the room to take a seat on the end of the table closest to Draco. “Close the door.”

Draco obliged and watched Hermione cast a privacy spell on the door. 

“I believe I’ve been robbed.” Draco said calmly, once the spell had settled. 

“That’s Crimes Department, Malfoy.” Hermione said tiredly.

“I’m missing half a shipment of centella asiatica powder,” He replied, finally meeting her eyes. 

There was a realization that dawned on her, before she cursed softly. 

“Er,” Blaise began, clearly confused. “Anyone want to clue me in on whatever the hell that is?”

“Centella asiatica powder is an incredibly rare potion ingredient primarily used in advance burn paste.” 

“So rare that you have to have a potioneer’s license to even purchase it.” Hermione said carefully, eyes narrowing. 

Draco rolled his eyes and fished in his pocket, pulling out his license and tossing it at her. Hermione caught it with ease, examining it with a close eye. 

“It’s authentic.” 

Hermione ignored him, turning the license over to finish her examination. She tossed it back to him once completed, begrudgingly satisfied that it was a real license. 

“I suspect an inside job, but the thing is I can’t really investigate my own people without raising suspicion, especially considering the current contract we have has us doing triple time for the foreseeable future.” 

“What on Earth would have you working that much?” Hermione asked, disbelieving his statement. 

Draco chuckled, “My company provides all the potions, creams, and salves for St. Mungo’s. They’ve just got an influx of burn victims which is how I discovered the missing supply.” 

Blaise frowned, “So let me get this straight, an incredibly rare potion ingredient goes missing and you just noticed it?

“We do bi-weekly audits, last conducted two days ago. The shipment went missing in that time frame.”

Something about that statement sparked something in his partners eye, Blaise noted. 

“I’d suggest you put in an official report with the Crimes unit and let us poke around,” Blaise said. Hermione looked at him, narrowed her eyes for the briefest of moments, before she nodded in agreement.

Draco thanked them, “I appreciate it. I know Crimes will look at it, but something feels off. It’s too coincidental. I’ll leave you to it, my batch of burn paste will need turning soon.”

As the younger Malfoy exited the room Hermione shook her head. 

“This day is too fucking strange. How’d he even know we’d be here? It’s near 23:00.”

Blaise gave her a sheepish look, “We’d meant to have drinks but with the case and St. Mungo’s putting a rush on the burn paste we had to cancel. I told him this was likely to keep me in the Ministry for a few days and not to worry about rescheduling anytime soon.”

Hermione held his gaze for a moment, wondering if she should press the topic more, but opted to let it go for now. Instead she furrowed her brow in thought. 

“What are you thinking?” Blaise asked.

“The timeline—if Malfoy is being honest about his audit, then it’s extremely coincidental that a major catastrophe happened at the Reserve just earlier today.” Hermione reasoned, rubbing idly at her forearm as her mind worked through the web of information. 

“You think they’re connected.”

Hermione nodded.

“And you are going to research that damn powder, on top of this case aren’t you?”

Hermione nodded again.

Blaise sighed, “Once the dynamic duo return and we brief them you are going to bed. We all are.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes dad.”

As it happened, they didn’t have to wait long for Tonks and Harry to return, both looking as tired as they each felt. Tonks sunk into the nearest chair while Harry opted to flop into the one beside her. 

“A bleeding witch,” Tonks muttered, kicking her feet up on the conference table. 

“Yes, and the French Ministry has been notified. They’re a bit miffed that we aren’t letting them in on the case, but Minister Shacklebolt thinks there’s enough eyes on this as it is.” Blaise responded. 

“You said you had a level ten here Hermione, what’s going on?” Tonks asked, turning to the brunette. 

“Between the rampage at the Romanian Reserve, the missing potion ingredients, and the connection that Blaise found, I think we might have to bump that level up,” Hermione said ruefully. 

“Potion ingredients?” Harry asked as Tonks questioned the Reserve. 

Hermione made quick work of filling them in, doing her best not to gloss over anything important. “Someone’s tampered with the enchantments at the Reserve in Romania and there were quite a few casualties and fair number injured. This comes one day after a reported theft of an incredibly rare and potent potion ingredient, used primarily for advanced burn paste—exactly like what would be used for a situation in which a dragon went berserk.” 

“And that has what to do with this…?” Harry asked. 

“Nothing, yet anyway. It quite literally just developed,” Blaise responded as he rubbed his hands across his face. “Back to our case, every single female on that board was adopted here in London.”

“What?”

“You’re joking.”

Blaise shook his head, “Hermione believes that we are looking for a male suspect who is looking for adopted individuals between the ages of twenty-two and twenty-six who were adopted. Perhaps looking to avenge time spent in an orphanage, or maybe on the hunt for a single individual.”

Tonks nodded in agreement, “I think we ought to explore the sibling role, what with one of the victims being a half-sibling of the other.”

Hermione found herself nodding at the older Auror and quickly scribbled down the theory. “It’s something we’ve discussed too, and I think it’s got merit.”

“Why those ages?” Harry asked as Hermione finished her notes. 

“That’s the youngest and oldest thus far,” Blaise responded for her. “And if we go by the theory that he’s narrowed down his field based on the last five murders then we know that the person’s age is likely around twenty-five.” 

Harry looked at the faces on the board, “So the men were just collateral, it’s the women he’s after. The question is why?”

“That’s a question for tomorrow, I reckon.” Tonks said tiredly. “We need a fresh go at this in the morning when we’re all rested.” 

Blaise nodded in agreement, “The rest of the evidence from today should be done by then and we can run our theory more then.” 


	4. 04

Angelina Weasley sat on a stool, perched over the long pay counter of the joke shop her husband owned with his twin brother. Before her parchment was spread out and books were haphazardly stacked high. For the third time her long braids fell in her face as she scribbled numbers in each of the accounting columns. 

With a sigh she gathered her braids and twisted them atop her head in an intricate knot, securing it with a flick of her wand. Idly she rubbed at her stomach with her free hand while she jotted down the shop’s expenses that month. 

Behind her she heard a chuckle as the familiar arms of her husband snaked around her shoulders. 

“How’s the books?” He asked, pausing to tug on a stray braid. 

“Coming along—they’ll be balanced before you open.” She replied, closing the binding of the notepad she’d been working on. She turned and gave him a quick kiss before continuing, “What’s got you so cuddly this morning?”

“Can’t a man love his wife?”

“A man can, but his wife knows when he comes in with his tail tucked between his legs.” Angelina replied with a laugh. “What’d you break?”

Fred chuckled and pressed a kiss to her exposed neck. “Guilty, though don’t be mad.”

“A fine way to guarantee my being mad,” She replied rolling her eyes. 

Fred hopped onto the counter beside her and held his hands up in innocence. “You know that vase your mum got us for the wedding?”

Her eyes narrowed, “The ivory one?!”

“Merlin no! The crimson one—with the little pine trees—”

“It’s sprigs of holly!” 

“Right—anyway—”

Angelina burst out into laughter, interrupting him. “Oh, thank Merlin!”

“Bit of a mishap—wait? What?” Fred paused, thoroughly confused by her reaction.

“It was hideous and I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it!” She said through her giggles. 

A smile bloomed on his face, “So you aren’t mad?”

“Oh, I’m mad,” Angelina responded as she gave his ear a flick. “Mad that you broke something, though I’m not upset at _what_ was broken.”

“So I’ll make it up to you with a Honeyduke’s haul and curry for dinner after I get back from Hogsmeade?” Fred asked, hopping down from the counter. 

Angelina nodded at him, “The very least.”

“Right,” Fred said with a nod. “I’ll send your mum some wine the soften the blow.”

He bent down and pressed a kiss to her cheek before heading out the door to the shop. Angelina shook her head and pulled the notebook back towards her to finish out the last page of the ledger. 

Her hand found its way back to her stomach, gently resting against the fabric of her blouse. There was a small flutter that passed through her and she paused to tap the feathered end of the quill against her lips. An array of emotions swept through her as she recalled the plume of blue smoke emitting from her wand an hour ago, finally settling on a mixture of nerves and joy. 

_Am I ready? Are we ready?_

“That went much better than I expected,” George said brightly as he slid down the banister, pulling her from her thoughts. 

“He knows I can’t stay mad at him, the prick.” Angelina said lightly before placing the final number on the bottom of the page. Satisfied she waved her wand and sent all of the books and parchment through the small doorway that led to the offices and storeroom. 

George ducked the floating books, and slid easily into the stool beside his sister-in-law. “You look awfully cheery this morning.”

“Lots to be cheery about, I suppose.” She mused. “For one, I haggled that bloke with _Witch Weekly_ down nearly a third of his price to run our adverts. Meaning we’ve got enough in the reserves to start up the mail-order production center you two have been moaning about.”

“Oh?” George said in surprise, face lighting up. “Really Angie?”

She nodded, “Yes! I low-balled him and the dunce pounced on it. Had I known he’d be such a push over I’d have went for half the price.”

George let out a bark of a laugh, “How’d we manage to get such a fantastic office manager?”

“Turns out I have a thing for gangly redheads,” She replied flippantly. She shot him a wink as he held a hand to his chest in mock offense. 

“I prefer the term lanky when you are referring to my exquisite physique.” He replied, hands gesturing to himself. “You said there’s lot to be cheery about—anything else in the works I should know about?” 

Angelina raised an eyebrow and bit her lip, “Well, actually there is something. A small something, haven’t spent a lot of time thinking about it…”

“Don’t leave me hanging love!” 

“I want to preface this by saying it was completely unplanned and borderline terrifying,” Angelina said while holding up a hand to stop him from interrupting. She watched his face slip into the serious mask he wore when she brought up business with him. 

“Ang—”

“I’m pregnant.” 

She blinked, and squeaked at her own admission. Across from her George’s jaw hung slack, surprise frozen in his features. Somewhere in the shop one of the Pygmy Puffs began to chatter, breaking his trance. A wide grin spread across his face then, and Angelina found herself in a tight hug. 

“Does Freddie know?”

She shook her head, “I literally did the test this morning when I got in. I’m kind of in shock.”

George returned to his stool, smile still plastered across his face. “I’m going to be an uncle!”

“You’re already an uncle,” she pointed out. 

He waved at her, “You know what I mean! This is brilliant!”

Angelina felt her smile drop slightly. She was thrilled about the news, but she hadn’t lied when she told him it was completely unplanned and borderline terrifying. “Is it? Are we ready? I—I mean, is it too soon?”

“Love, Bill and Fleur wasted no time on Victoire after the war. I’d say five years is plenty.” 

“You reckon?” She asked quietly. “Because Fred still wakes in cold sweats and I still jump at every sound. Shadows send me in a spin and Fred is just now walking without a limp. His back is still a mess. I—how are we going to even care for this baby?” 

“Angie, we all still have our ticks from the war,” George reasoned. “And probably will in the long haul, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be able to care for a child. I’ll just have to give them all the piggyback rides for Fred.”

She bit her lip again, “I know… I just—we hadn’t planned it! I mean we talked about it eventually, but we never really set a plan.”

George tilted his head to the side, “Love, nothing about Freddie’s and I’s lives have exactly gone to plan. Besides you have an enormous—and I mean that literally—support system with our family alone.”

She felt herself laugh despite her bundle of nerves. “You really think we’ll be alright?”

“Yes!” He said excitedly before hopping up from the stool and clapping his hands. “Right, lots to do to prepare. I’ve got to get going on my twinly uncle duties—”

He paused and glanced back at her, face suddenly serious. “I’ll need to properly propose to Katie I reckon.” 

“I’m sorry?” Angelina replied, blinking in confusion as she failed to see the connection between his love life and her life news.

“She’s working on the maternity floor at the moment at the hospital and has baby fever like mad. Now her best friend is knocked up and she’ll be jumping me every chance she gets.” George reasoned.

“And that’s your reason to get married?”

George shook his head, “Merlin no. But my drunken proposal last month is a constant source of entertainment for her, so I’ll just move up my actual plans. Besides, news of a proposal will by you and Freddie some time before having to let mum into the news.”

Angelina groaned and placed a hand to her face. “Oh Merlin,”

“She’s going to be over the moon and will likely lock you in the burrow the closer you get to the due date. The very least I can do is let her plan a wedding in conjunction.” He gave her a wink and set out to the storeroom. 

“Oh, and Angie?” He called over his shoulder.

“Yea?”

“A galleon says he feints.”

She laughed, “Oi! You peg me for a sucker?”

-.-.- 

Blaise handed a handful of silver to the barista at the small café cart in the entrance of the Ministry and stepped to the side while the man started on his order. He caught the sight of a familiar face seated at one of the small, round tables, intently working through a stack of parchment. 

The man behind the counter called his name and slid him the two to-go cups of piping hot tea (his with milk). Thanking the man he turned back to the woman at the table, contemplating his next move. 

As if she were aware of his gaze she looked up and waved at him, “Blaise!” 

It took a great deal of effort to stop the blush from creeping into his cheeks from being caught staring, but somehow he managed. 

“Cho,” he greeted her as his feet took him towards her table. As he drew near her, he eyed the stack of parchment she was thumbing through. “Is that what has you having clandestine meetings with my partner?”

Cho laughed, “I wouldn’t call them clandestine, but yes.” 

“Oh, so I didn’t see you slipping through the shadows on our floor?” He asked her quietly, bending at his waist to whisper in her ear. He felt her tense beside him, but he let out a chuckle. “Your secret is safe with me, but should you find yourself needing help spying on someone in our office, let me know.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Cho said evenly, glancing at him. 

“I’m not here to pry, just to offer my services.” Blaise replied before straightening himself back up. “I need to run up to our conference room, but I think I’ll come back down for an afternoon tea around 14:00.”

“Oh? Maybe I’ll see you around then,” Cho remarked.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Blaise replied as he made to move towards the hall that led to the lifts. 

Cho watched his retreating back, marveling at bold he’d been to confront her in the open. The goosebumps that had formed at his whispers began to fade and she was left shaking her head. 

_Two can play at that game_ , she mused as she gathered her parchment to head back to her desk. _And I’m used to winning_.

-.-.-

When he opened his eyes he noticed two things. First, instead of his vision being filled with the alluring form of his wife he was instead starting up at the dark stained wood of their kitchen ceiling. 

Second, he was pretty sure she was laughing and crying, at the same time. 

With a groan he sat up, rubbing one hand against the back of his head as the last few minutes came back to him. 

He’d arrived back at their home that evening with a bag full of candy and takeaway from Angelina’s favorite curry spot. She’d been perched at the kitchen table reading through the advertising contract with _Witch Weekly_ when he popped in. 

Immediately she helped him unload the two bags, chatting animatedly about how good of a deal she’d secured on the advertising contract. 

They’d shared a quick kiss and he remarked that she was positively glowing at the news. 

Then she’d said she was glowing for a different reason and handed him a pair of purple and orange baby booties (sporting the shop’s logo nonetheless). 

It had taken a second to register in his mind before it was complete darkness, presumably when he’d feinted. 

Beside him his wife knelt, wiping tears from her eyes as she laughed. “I’m glad I didn’t take George’s bait this morning.” 

Fred turned to her, “Sorry?”

She held out a hand to him to help him up. “He bet me a galleon that you’d feint, and I told him I wasn’t a sucker.” 

A smile made his way to his lips, “Georgie knows?” 

A nod, “I was a little freaked this morning when I found out and he calmed me down. He’s off doing—what’d he call it, ‘twinly uncle duties’ or something.” 

“Merlin help us,” Fred muttered as he pulled his wife into a tight embrace, pausing long enough to give her a deep kiss.

“Help us with that lunatic who shares my DNA,” he muttered against her lips. “I can’t wait to meet our child and spoil them rotten. Think of all the mischief we can get into, Angie!” 

She groaned into his chest, “I’d rather not. I’ve got your trickster of a child in my womb and Gods help me if they inherit your lanky limbs.” 

“What if it’s twins?” 

“If it’s twins we are giving one to George and Katie.” 

-.-.-

The pub was loud, he decided, but not unbearably so. The buzz was oddly comforting, though he supposed it drowned out his thoughts as he second guessed himself for the tenth time that day. 

“This place couldn’t be harder to find,” his sister said irritably as she flopped into the chair across from him.

He raised an eyebrow at her, “Hi Gin, how are you? Good? How am I? Great. Good talk.”

“Prick,” She rolled her eyes. “You know I’m lousy with directions.”

He snickered, “I wrote them down for Merlin’s sake!”

She scoffed, “I’m pretty sure Victoire has better handwriting than you do Ron, and she’s four.” 

He offered her a lazy shrug and sunk back in his chair. “My boss is going to be peeved when he finds out I had lunch with you this close to the match.”

“Like I’d trust a single thing you said about your team,” Ginny replied, voice dripping in sarcasm. “All you scouts are the same—can’t trust a thing about you.”

“You wound me baby sister,” Ron laughed. “I reckon I’m a little trusting.”

“In everything but our business, I suppose.” Ginny conceded. “Don’t pretend you didn’t do some skeezy shit to find out Barron hurt her shoulder.” 

He didn’t even bother to hide the sheepish grin, “To be fair it’s not my fault Barron’s fiancé is my girlfriend’s sister.”

“Speaking of, how is Elle?” 

“Great, brilliant actually. She’s moved to the front office, the announcement will be in the Prophet tomorrow. She’s going into contracting.” Ron replied. 

Ginny smiled at the dopy look on his face as he was beaming with pride. Some days she wondered how he’d caught Elle Parkin, an incredibly independent and driven women that was set to take over the Pride of Portree team after her father retired. Elle had a reputation around the league for being a workaholic and had strict no dating policy when it came to people involved with Quidditch. Or that’s what her sister had told them when she came to visit Barron and the Harpies just after Elle and Ron had gotten together. 

She’d only ever met the woman once before her brother had begun to see her, but it was enough to be impressed by the wealth of Quidditch and business knowledge she had stored in her mind. Elle was just a year older than Ron and had attended Beauxbatons before she went to work as a scout for her father’s team. They’d crossed paths last spring at the annual league banquet and had talked for nearly the whole event. 

They’d fallen into an easy rapport, mainly because Elle had taken to her family like a moth to a flame. She could talk shop with them all when it came to the sport, but she was nearly as smart as Hermione and Bill and would often get lost in some complex discussion that was lost on the rest of them. 

When it came to getting along with the Twins, Ginny was surprised at how well Elle could tame the duo. It helped that the amount of trouble she created for all of Ginny’s brothers had made her an equal in the Twins’ eyes. Together she, Elle, and Hermione had schemed up many tricks to subtly remind the boys of just how capable they were (and Ginny would never complain about pulling one over on the mischievous duo). It had been Elle’s idea at Christmas to charm the boy’s socks to sing off key every time her mum had put one of the Celestina records on (which was near constant). Fred was still begging her for the rights for the prank, much to her chagrin.

Elle came from a small family—just one sister and her parents. She’d confided once that it was a lonely childhood with her parents being so devoted to Quidditch. She and her sister Elizabeth grew close and fell into the family business, though Elizabeth had opted to be a team Healer while Elle took to the business side of things. She loved how big the Sunday lunches were, and Ginny knew it meant the world to her when her mum gave her one of the trademark sweaters in a deep violet shade at Christmas. 

“Your anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?” she asked, pulling her thoughts from her brother’s girlfriend.

He nodded, “Next month actually. Once the season winds down we’re planning a holiday over in Spain. Actually if it all pans out, we’ll be leaving on the first of June after the last match against the Bats.”

“Oh?” Ginny asked, surprised. “Why Spain?”

“She’s got a family place there—her dad bought it with the first signing bonus he got when he signed with the Pride.” Ron replied easily. 

Ginny nodded, impressed. “And here I thought I was doing good by buying land in Godric’s Hallow without Harry knowing.” 

“When are you going to tell him?”

“When he proposes.” Ginny said with a shrug. 

“What if he buys land without telling you?”

“Then we have his-and-hers manors. Might just keep my sanity once we tie the knot.” 

Ron laughed at that, “He’ll ask soon, I have a feeling.”

“I’m in no rush,” Ginny replied easily. “I know I’m ready and I know he still has some things to work through on his own. I don’t even need a bloody ceremony, but he’s dead set on letting mum run the show since she had so much fun with Bill and Fleur’s wedding.”

“He’s a better Weasley than the lot of us,” Ron muttered, shaking his head. 

“Oh definitely—he’s mums favorite and there’s not even a close second.” 

Ron offered his sister a chuckle, mind lost for a moment. 

“What’s on your mind?” He heard her ask. 

“I need some advice,” Ron said slowly.

Ginny raised an eyebrow, “Oh?

“IthinkIwanttopropose.” His voice came out in a rush. He was met with a squeal as his sister pieced together the jumble of sounds. 

“Ron!” She said, clasping a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. “Really?” (He assumed that was what she’d said as it was quite muffled by the hand over her mouth.)

He nodded, a smile blooming on his red face. “I think so yeah. I just—is it too soon?”

“Ron, it’s been almost a year. And considering what Elizbeth has said about her sister keeping quidditch separate from her love life, I think it says a lot that she made an exception for you.” Ginny reasoned, face beaming as her hand returned to the table. 

“I suppose…” He trailed off, glancing away from her. 

“Ron, believe me when I say this, alright? That woman is completely smitten with you. I mean she puts up with your snoring _and_ your eating habits, for Merlin’s sake! She’s one of the first to jump at the family quidditch games—and can keep Charlie’s ego in check at that—and is probably one of the only other people outside of our family that can outwit Fred and George.” Ginny explained. “Have you guys talked about the future at all?”

Ron nodded, “Some, yeah. She’s talked about getting a place out in Devon near the Burrow so she can fly—something she can’t do in her flat. She said we ought to go looking for land for a house.” 

Ginny giggled, “There’s your answer then. ‘We ought to’ means the two of you in a house!” 

He tilted his head, “Really?”

“Yes you prat!” Ginny exclaimed. “That was her way of saying she was ready for the next level!” 

“I—I suppose so,” he said blinking. “But i-it wouldn’t be until June or July. I think I’d like to do it out in Spain before we have to report back to get ready for the next season.”

“June, July, tomorrow—whenever it is I think you two are ready.” Ginny said easily. “And I for one can’t wait for all our future holidays where we have the lot of you on edge.” 

She sent him an evil smirk and a wink, dissolving into laughter at his groan.

-.-.-

Charlie had stopped by the hospital for the fifth time since the incident on the Reserve. Most of the keepers had been discharged and allowed back to Romania to begin aiding the Romanian Aurors with securing the outer wards of the Reserve. Only three remained, one being a young woman who’d been one of the first on scene once the alarms sounded, indicating a breach in the enclosures. 

Helena Rowle was small, reminding him a lot of his sister—thin and agile with a temperament that was best left unbothered. She’d come to the Reserve shortly before he left and had been one the last that he’d trained on the job. Though he’d never tell her, she was probably the best trainee he’d ever had. She had a knack for the job and was a regular dragon whisperer by the time he’d officially handed in his resignation. The dragons practically flocked to her—both impressive and a little terrifying, if he were being honest. 

She was itching to get out and get back to the Reserve, and he didn’t blame her. Some days he wished he were still back in the countryside, waking up before the sun to feed and tend to the magnificent beasts. He popped in for a quick greeting, bringing her the smuggled in breakfast she’d requested from the _Leaky Cauldron_. Helena’s face had lit up as she spotted the bag. Quickly she dumped the tray of hospital food into the bin beside her bed and shot him a thanks. 

Then he’d migrated over to the next remaining keeper, the Assistant Director of the Reserve James Williams (although with the passing of the Director in the incident, he supposed that he ought to start referring to James as the Director). James was a few years older than himself and had been on the reserve for over twenty years. His face was weathered from the years spent in the sun, and had thin scars marring the freckled skin from various incidents along the years. He was a tall man, not that it was easy to tell while he was laid up in the hospital bed, but he was one of the tallest blokes Charlie knew. 

James raised a bandaged hand at him, grimacing at the movement. “Come to break me out?” 

Charlie shook his head and tossed him a smaller paper bag than what he’d given Helena. “Scones from that stuffy bakery, as you requested.”

“Brilliant!” James laughed as he caught the bag. 

Charlie took a seat on the window sill, “How’s the leg coming along?”

“Ligaments are nearly done re-growing and I should be able to start walking by this evening. If all goes well I’ll be out of here by Monday for when we begin to work on the Reserve.” James replied, taking one of the scones out of the bag. “I put in a request with Minister Shacklebolt for a team to assist, he seemed inclined to the idea.”

“That’ll be good,” Charlie said absently. 

“You’ll likely be on the list,” James continued. “If we can have you.” 

Charlie cocked his head, “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Aren’t you on a deadline or some shit?” 

Charlie rolled his eyes, “I’m always on a deadline. Besides, I think helping rebuild a Reserve trumps a book, mate. And honestly it’s the least I can do for you lot. It was my wards that failed and put you all in—”

“Knock it off,” James said warningly. 

“What?” Charlie asked, shooting him a glare. “I’m just saying what we all are thinking.”

“No, we all aren’t thinking that. Maybe the Burke cunts, but not all of us. I don’t expect any ward to hold up to nine fucking dragons pitching a fit.” 

“Pitching a fit? Bit of an understatement, don’t you think?”

James waved at him, “You get the gist you prick. There isn’t a ward strong enough to stop a stampede of five dragons, let alone all nine when they get going.”

Charlie set his jaw but opted not to argue with the older man. “Have the Aurors figured out what went wrong?”

James nodded with a mouth full of scone. Swallowing quickly, he dusted off the crumbs from his burly beard. “Mostly. Once they were able to get in and get the perimeter secured that night they were able to get a spell map up. Someone cast an Imperius at the security gate—they reckon Robertson was targeted and sent in to disrupt the runes. It makes sense since they found his body near the Welsh’s enclosure. One of the Aurors also found some gaps in what was left of the wards surrounding the administrative side that weren’t consistent with dragon magic.”

Charlie blinked, “What on earth were they even looking for? None of the dragons are gone, so clearly it wasn’t for poaching.”

James shrugged, “I dunno, but I reckon we’ll find out soon enough once we can get in there and get it pieced back together. By the way—the Minister wants to expand the Reserve and focus more on researching dragons and upping the conservation efforts by running a hatchery.”

This surprised Charlie. The previous regimes hadn’t given the Reserve a second thought despite having partnered with the Romanian Ministry to keep it operational. They were used to being a political pawn used only as a point of good faith than actually receiving any funding or consideration from his home government. 

“He wanted to do right by us before the incident, and now he’s determined to set it in motion.” James continued, nodding at Charlie. “You won’t catch me complaining though, it’s about bloody time.” 

“How’s he going to get the white beards on the ‘gamot to actually send funding?” Charlie wondered aloud. 

“That liaison lady that stopped by mentioned something about external funding. Not sure what she meant exactly, but she seemed pleased with it.” James replied with another shrug. “As long as it gets me back in the Reserve I’ll be happy.”

“Probably some anonymous donors wanting to polish their trophy shelves with a shiny Order of Merlin, Third class.” Charlie said with a roll of his eyes. “But money is money, and the Reserve is going to need a good chunk to be operational again, especially with Kingsley’s aspirations.”

James shot him a knowing look and the he two chatted for a while longer until one of his healers came in for his morning assessment. Charlie bid him a quick goodbye before heading out to make his way back to the floo entrance, stopping briefly to wave to Helena before he left. 

He laughed off her attempt to persuade him into smuggling her out of the hospital, vowing to bring her another round of breakfast on Saturday if she still wasn’t free. 

“You don’t have to do that,” A voice said behind him as he ducked from her door. 

Charlie turned and was greeted to the grisly sight of the youngest Burke brother, Anthony. Anthony stood a good head shorter than himself, though he was just as broad. His face was heavily scarred from the burns, and Charlie felt a pang of guilt in his chest.

“Do what?”

“Act like you care.” The man responded evenly. 

Charlie took a step towards him, anger beginning to bubble. “Excuse me?

“I think I was rather plain,” Anthony drawled, arms crossed. “We don’t need you running back to play hero after you fucked us over by leaving. Great play too, botching the wards. No amount of free food is going to bring them back so I’d suggest you go run back to your little cabin and keep writing your texts.”

Charlie clenched his jaw and took a steady breath, willing the red vision to wane. Anthony shot him a triumphant smirk, “No rebuttal?”

“I’m weighing my options and trying to decide if I want to waste my advance on bond,” Charlie replied. “As it turns out, as much fun as it would be to knock that face of yours in, I’d rather not waste my money on you.” 

“Threats of violence doesn’t change that I’m right,” Anthony said before he shoved passed him, arm clipping his shoulder. 

Charlie barely resisted the urge to turn his wand on him, instead opting to storm towards the floo entrance. His mind was reeling from the interaction, and as much as he wanted to be angry at the man, a small part of his mind knew that Anthony had been right. 

He hadn’t been there. 

He had left them.

His wards had failed.

Once again he’d found himself hidden away when he was needed the most. It was a sobering thought, as he recalled all the time’s he’d failed his family and friends. 

_Just add this to the long list of things I’ve fucked up._

With a sigh he entered the floo, and called out the name of his childhood home. 


	5. 05

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -mentions of drug use in relation to the case in this chapter-

The four days following their assignment was spent pouring over every bit of evidence in their conference room. The more they combed through the boxes the more certain they were of Blaise’s theory. On Wednesday morning Tonks decided to pull every adoption record from every orphanage in muggle London. Together she and Harry had been examining all the records, looking for an overlap in staff, children, or even prospective parents.

Hermione and Blaise had set out to decipher the toxicology results from each victim and compare them to the results of what the analyst had found in the takeaway. There wasn’t enough of the substance left to decern what it was, but they were positive the takeaway had been laced with something other than trace amounts of salmonella.

So far there wasn’t a single thing in any of the victim’s systems that lined up with what little was left of the substance in the food.

Hermione was grateful for the mystery, despite the circumstances. Perhaps it was the time of year, or maybe it was just time for her next break, but she was certain that her lack of sleep and restlessness was leading to something. She couldn’t explain the feeling—the gripping fear that would wash over her as if she were being hunted. Or the crippling bout of grief that would lock her knees and squeeze her lungs. It was paralyzing, the way it all seemed to grip at her.

Having something to focus on kept her from getting lost in her own mind, though she knew that the same mystery that was keeping her sanity was slowly chipping away at it.

In the past she’d been good about keeping those feelings in check, knowing when it was time to take a sleeping draught, or use some leave for a break from work. Those were the night’s she’d apparate to Charlie’s place and curl up on his sofa, content with the presence of someone who’d lived through the war and was experiencing life the same way she was.

This time things kept piling up in front of her, preventing her from a dose of Dreamless Sleep or even a cup of piping hot tea next to her confidant. For the first time in a long time Hermione Granger felt utterly overwhelmed, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it up.

In addition to the serial killer case, Hermione had spent a considerable amount of time researching the missing potion ingredient, but wasn’t having any success as to why it had gone missing. From her research she could only find its use for burn paste, along with a few varying potion recipes for the paste. Cho hadn’t had much luck either with the Reserve case, but Hermione knew from the look in the other witch’s eyes that she was just as spread thin as herself. They’d met infrequently, often in the late evening and in passing to swop notes and theories, though much to their combined dismay there wasn’t much headway being made. Cho did agree though, that there was a good chance the Reserve was related to the missing supplies, if only for the use of the missing ingredients and the timing of the missing supplies.

While Hermione was convinced they were connected, she just hadn’t figured out how. She was sure that the remains of the substance that had poisoned the victims had to include the missing potion ingredient, but she just couldn’t figure out what poison it could have been. 

They’d parted ways late last night with Hermione vowing to reach out to a few contacts regarding the ingredients, though at the time she hadn’t even considered who she would actually be reaching out to. Now that it was Thursday and she still had yet to crack either case, she felt like she was at her wits end.

There was a twinge in her ribs as the anxiety ebbed. Clenching her fists, Hermione tried to expel the pent-up energy before the drum of her ribs began to match the beat of her pulse in her ears. There was a shuffle behind her, pulling her from the book in front of her. She looked up in time to see Blaise slide a cup of tea under her nose, the silent question of when she’d last slept going unspoken.

She took the cup and offered him a thanks, peering at the texts in front of her while the printed words swarmed together. Blinking, she sat back and rubbed at her eyes.

She felt trapped and pulled in a million different ways. Her brain was exhausted from running scenario after scenario, desperate to piece together the puzzle before her. She heard Harry sigh, tapping the parchment in front of him irritably. Beside him Tonks was frowning at the scrolls she was sorting, wand flicking left and right to send them to their respective piles.

Blaise’s gaze burned in the back of her head, pulling her back to the room. She took a long sip of her tea, relishing the warm liquid as it washed down her throat. It was almost as if it were drowning the anxiety that had been creeping up on her—almost. It was still there, just dancing in the hollow of her chest, waiting for its opportunity to strike.

_I need to get out of here._

“I think I’m going to go out for a bit—get some air.” She said aloud, before pushing herself out of the chair. Blaise rose to follow but she waved him off. “I’m fine, I’ll be back soon. Promise.”

She felt his eyes boring into her, but her feet carried her out of the room, down the hall, and into the lifts. She wasn’t completely sure where she was even going until she was in front of the floo entrance, but she didn’t hesitate a moment to call out her destination.

“The Burrow!”

The green swirled around her, making her nauseous. Suddenly her lack of sleep and proper eating schedule caught up to her as she landed awkwardly in the hearth. Stumbling as she landed on the other side, Hermione threw out a hand to steady herself. There was a clatter and a strong hand gripped her free arm, pulling her into a standing position.

“Easy does it,” the voice belonging to the strong hand said softly.

Had she not been utterly exhausted, she might have found herself blushing at the unexpected close proximity to Charlie Weasley.

“Thanks,” She muttered and for a moment they remained in the same position—her standing while he held onto her arm.

Blinking, Charlie dropped her arm and flicked his wand at the broken teacup on the ground. “Tea?”

Hermione nodded appreciatively, cursing herself for forgetting the one Blaise had given her.

“Mum’s out shopping, if that’s who you were looking for.”

“Honestly, I just needed to get away,” Hermione replied, watching the older man as he carried two cups of steaming tea over to the kitchen table. “It’s been too long since I’ve had a proper talk with anyone who wasn’t plugged into some mystery.”

“Rough case?”

“Cases,” Hermione admitted.

Charlie’s eyes widened in surprise, “Common practice to overwork the Aurors?”

She laughed quietly, “No, I’m afraid it’s my own doing. I’m a bit of a masochist when it comes to overworking myself.”

“Could have fooled me,” came the sarcastic reply. “Anything I can help with, or are you going to read me your entire non-disclosure clause like my lovely sister-in-law?”

Hermione rolled her eyes but let the smile on her face stay. “The main case no, but that’s no fault of yours. I think we are close to cracking the why, just not the who.”

“The who is rather important.”

“Prat,” Hermione laughed, lavishing the feeling in her chest that was spreading. She wasn’t sure the last time she’d actually laughed—a real, true laugh.

“I’ve been called worse,” Charlie replied with a shrug.

They fell into a comfortable silence, and Hermione was reminded of their night time meetings after the war where they would sit together. No words, no expectations, just the company of someone in the same state with no desire to talk about it.

“Tell me about the other case, if you can.” Charlie said, breaking her from her thoughts.

Hermione pursed her lips, contemplating how to approach the subject, knowing that Charlie would undoubtedly want to jump into her pursuit given his association with the Reserve. She knew it was a goose chase, that technically she wasn’t assigned too, despite her frequent meetings with Cho about the investigation.

“What do you know about centella asiatica powder?” Hermione final asked.

She met his look of surprise with a knowing look.

“Honestly, outside of Healers and the people on the Reserve, I’ve never met a single person who knows of that ingredient.” Charlie began, “Though I should have expected that if anyone were to know about it, it would be you.”

She didn’t even try to hid the smug look from her face, taking the compliment as it came. “What I don’t know is why someone, hypothetically, would steal a portion of a shipment if it’s not used for anything other than burn paste.”

“Could be nefarious, I suppose.” Charlie replied, taking a sip of his tea. “Course anytime stealing is involved, the reasoning is usually nefarious.”

Hermione tilted her head in thought, but Charlie continued. “Everyone on the reserve is made to learn how to make the paste—it comes in handy in a pinch if we need to use up our supply. One of the differences between generic burn paste that works on small burns, or even first and second-degree burns, is that the more potent version uses the powder in place of chickweed.

“The main difference though, is that you have to replace the powdered oxhorn in the stronger version with powdered aloe root. If you don’t the magic used to finish the potion will cause a violent reaction.”

Hermione tapped her tea cup, processing the information.

_If you simply paired the two powders together, absent the rest of the potion ingredients…_

There was a moment of realization that dawned on her then, “If you put the two powders together, what would happen?”

“Honestly, I haven’t a clue. You’d have to ask a potion master, but I reckon it would be just as lethal. The magical properties of each are rather potent on their own, the magic would clash and I’d bet money it wouldn’t end well.” Charlie said.

 _Potions Master._ A thought formed in her mind, connecting all the dots. She needed to pop over to see the Twins and flesh out her idea. If that didn’t pan out she’d have to go to the scene of the crime, though she prayed to whatever deity was listening that the Twins would give her the information she needed.

“I’ve got to go,” Hermione said hurriedly, pushing herself up from the table in a rush. The sudden movement sent her vision swimming and she grabbed the edge of the table for support. “Fuck,” She muttered, closing her eyes.

She felt Charlie beside her, much like when she stumbled from the floo.

“Are you alright?” He asked, voice laced with worry.

Hermione nodded slightly, opening her eyes to meet his. The icy blue orbs burned into her own, and she felt her resolve finally collapse. It was like a wave crashing down on her, as the world around her tilted and blurred. Mentally she berated herself as pain exploded through her ribs.

She was angry then—angry at herself, angry at her mind and body for betraying her. She bit back the scream that bubbled in her throat, opting to slam a palm on the table. “Damn it!” she hissed.

“Damn it all!” She slammed the table again and looked up at the wizard holding on to her arm.

“Herm—”

“I’m fine,” She said, though the pleading tone of her voice sounded more as if she were trying to convince herself. She pulled her arm away and ran her hands over her face, the urge to scream was growing stronger.

She saw flashes then, as her vision swam, the sounds of the war coming back to taunt her. Flashes of her past, dancing and taunting before her. She was back in the thick of the war; the heat from the spell fire licked at her face while the vibration from the crumbling walls shook her. She could feel the knife in her arm, the thick breath against her neck.

Suddenly the room felt too small, as if it were shrinking with her in it. Wildly she looked around, desperate to find an escape from the scenes playing out the kitchen.

Two solid hands grasped her shoulders and suddenly her vision was filled with a familiar freckled face.

“Granger!” Charlie snapped, eyes searching her face.

The uncharacteristic use of her last name stuck a chord in her, and for a brief moment the images of war faded. Blinking, the small part of her mind that was still clamoring for control grasped onto the feeling.

“Look at me, Hermione,” came a softer reply.

The flashes were gone as fast as they’d come, leaving her breathless. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she collapsed back onto the table.

“Fuck,” she whispered as the room rightened itself.

Charlie helped her back into the chair, feeling helpless.

“I’m fine,” She said tiredly, brushing away his help. “Really this time—”

He shot her a pointed look, “Don’t even try my line, Hermione.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off again, blue eyes flashing. Hermione wasn’t sure if it was anger or concern, because as fast as he’d shown the emotion it was gone.

“Do you remember what you told me?”

Hermione looked away, not daring to answer.

He took her silence as her answer. “You told me to pull my head out of my ass and talk to you,” his voice was hard.

“Charlie—” She said, voice breaking.

“Talk to me Hermione,” His voice was barely a whisper. “We agreed.”

-.-.-

_Five Years Ago_

_It had been three weeks since they’d buried Arthur and Percy, and life at the Burrow was just as broken as the day Tom Riddle died._

_Bill and Fleur had returned to their cottage, Ron in tow. The sights and sounds of the Burrow were overwhelming to him in the absence of his father and Bill had suggested the change in scenery. She knew he felt an immense guilt having watched the wall nearly claim two of his brothers, and would often find himself staring at the door to Percy’s old room for hours until someone would guide him away._

_Harry had retreated to what was left of Grimmuald Place with Ginny, no doubt to begin repairing their relationship and sort through their own demons. She’d gone through untold horrors within the walls of Hogwarts while he’d faced death once again. Harry needed someone who understood what it was like to have Voldemort in his mind, someone he could talk to about sacrificing himself one last time to eliminate the final horcrux._

_Hermione knew that she would never be able to understand him the way Ginny would, but she was glad the two could find healing within each other._

_The Twins threw themselves into their work, but the few appearances they made at their familial home were strained as they navigated the fine line of lightening the mood and processing their grief. George was protective of his twin after the near death experience and was working through intense bouts of separation anxiety every time Fred was out of his sight._

_Hermione knew that Fred was having a hard time after nearly dying and had a lot of guilt that Percy had lost his life to save him. He’d asked her if the guilt would ever go away, and she told him she didn’t know, because she knew the guilt of her own decisions were deafening to her own ears._

_Charlie rarely left his mother’s side, not that Hermione was much different. She wasn’t sure if it was the harsh reality that the immediate attempt at restoring her parents memories had failed so spectacularly, or the need to run from her own demons, but she’d made it her mission to assume Molly’s role in the home until the older witch felt up to it._

_She cooked, cleaned, organized, rearranged, dusted—anything to consume every hour of the day she spent awake. Anything to keep her mind working._

_She was outside that evening, just as the sun had begun to set over the hills hidden behind the orchard, to usher the chickens back into their coop. She’d heard the chopping the moment she stepped outside. The sound grew louder and more erratic as she finished her chore, piquing her curiosity._

_Hermione crept around the Burrow to the back where the wood shed was. The source of the sound stood, axe in hand, relentlessly hacking away at logs, splitting it into small enough pieces for the wooden stove. She watched Charlie swing away, each one growing more labored than the first. She could hear his breathing hitch in-between frustrated grunts. He’d tossed his shirt off to the side in a wadded ball, and Hermione was left to see his tattooed back as his muscles flexed with each movement._

_As she drew closer she wasn’t sure if it was sweat or tears that glistened on his face._

_“Charlie,” She called softly, hoping not to startle him._

_The man kept swinging at the logs, seemingly unaware of her presence._

_“Charlie!” She called again, but still got no response. She drew closer and took a deep breath, “Weasley!”_

_Her voice carried through the valley, startling the wizard. Charlie dropped the axe at his feet and turned to her, face unreadable. It was the same mask he’d had on since she saw him by Percy’s fallen body._

_“Is everything alright?” He asked hurriedly, eyes looking past her to the house. “Is mum—”_

_“She’s fine, but you clearly aren’t.”_

_He blinked at her, “I’m sorry?”_

_“I said—”_

_“I heard you,” he replied gruffly as he bent to grab his shirt. “I’ll be going in for a shower.”_

_He made to move past her but Hermione stuck an arm out, placing a hand on his arm. “Don’t.”_

_“Hermione,” he said in warning._

_“Get your head out of your ass Charlie Weasley,” Hermione shot back. “Talk to me.”_

_If looks could kill she was sure she’d be dead ten times over, but she held her ground and gave him a challenging look._

_“Our agreement—”_

_“Our agreement,” She interrupted, “was to help each other, not duck away. We can sit in silence every night until we both die, but this—this wasn’t part of our agreement. You’re killing yourself out here--”_

_“I’m not ducking,” He snipped. His stance was rigged and angry, and Hermione wished she knew what was fueling his anger. She knew he had his own demons to process, but in the last month since the war she hadn’t seen a reaction like this._

_“Could have fooled me.”_

_Charlie took the balled-up shirt and ran it across his face, wiping away the mixture of tears and sweat. Hermione watched and gasped at the sight of his hand._

_“Charlie!” She exclaimed at the sight of the angry, purple knuckles that had already begun to scab over. Without a word she pulled out her wand, murmuring healing spells and decidedly ignoring the older man’s protests._

_“What happened?” She asked as she let the hand drop._

_“Got in a fight with a tree,” he said tightly, refusing to meet her gaze._

_“Damnit Charlie!” She exclaimed._

_“I don’t need a lecture,” He replied, closing his eyes. “I know it’s stupid, that’s why I picked up the axe. Figured I could at least be productive.”_

_“Charlie—”_

_“Hermione,” He cut her off, finally meeting her eyes. His next words died in his throat as he took in the worry etched on her face. The rage that had been boiling in his chest vanished in an instant, and suddenly he felt shame. “I’m sorry...”_

_She pulled him into a tight embrace, unsure of what to say. Charlie returned the embrace, and for the briefest of moments he felt at peace._

_“I’m just so fucking angry,” He whispered into her ear. “I didn’t get to see him or forgive him. Perce died thinking we all hated—I... I should have been there. I should have done more for him!”_

_Hermione pulled back and shook her head. “He knew you loved him and you know that. Anyone in this world knows how fiercely your family loves each other, even when you fight.”_

_“It wasn’t just a fight. He left and none of us tried to make amends. None of us reached out. I’m his older brother and I should have—”_

_“You can’t play the what if game.”_

_Charlie let out a harsh laugh and let his arms drop from the witch. He sunk to the ground, legs too exhausted to keep him upright any longer. He rested his arms on his knees and let his head drop. “You’ve mentioned that.”_

_Hermione knelt on the dirt beside him, steeling herself for her next words, “Did you know I had cast a shield that day? For Percy that is. It was strong—probably stronger than it ought to have been, but it wasn’t enough.”_

_Charlie looked up at her in surprise. “I didn’t.”_

_Hermione blinked and looked past him to the pile of wood, “Fred is the only one who noticed. I… I—I was in a…a right state over it. If it was just a bit more powerful… I—maybe I could have saved Percy too. Do you know what Fred said?”_

_She was rambling, eyes searching for something to focus on. Saying it out loud ought to have been liberating, but in the moment it was tearing a hole in her heart to admit her failure._

_Charlie shook his head, trying to meet her eyes. He grabbed at her hand, lacing his fingers with hers and gave her a reassuring squeeze. As much as he was hurting, he could see her own pain evident on her face. It was sobering to him to see what he felt in his own mind present in someone else._

_“If even the tiniest of things had changed in that one moment, he would likely be dead. He asked me to stop killing myself over it, because he owed me and Percy his life…” She trailed off, voice breaking as the tears spilled from her eyes._

_Charlie pulled her to his side, “Thank you for trying to save my brother when I couldn’t.”_

_“I didn’t share that to rub it in your face,” Hermione replied sadly. “Fred was right. There isn’t a single thing I’d change about the war because we won, and we are alive. If we don’t learn to live they will have died in vein.”_

-.-.-

There was a painful pulse in her arm that spread through her chest into her neck. The sudden sensation pulled her from the memory as she hissed. Another pulse, this time stronger than the first. Hermione grimaced and ripped the sleeve of her work robes back, pressing a cool hand to the burning scar. Closing her eyes, Hermione focused on breathing through the pain.

“What the fuck is that?!” Charlie exclaimed as his eyes widened. Hermione opened her eyes briefly to see him staring at her arm. His expression was unreadable, but Hermione could practically feel the anger and concern radiating off of him.

“Battle scar,” She said lightly, wincing. “Flares up under stress.” She kept her sentence short to focus on navigating the pain like Bill had shown her. After he and Fleur had assessed her arm, he’d taught her how to deal with the after affects, pulling from his experience with his own scars.

Gently she felt him grab her arm, examining the angry red lines. His hands were gentle on her burning skin, seemingly having more of a calming affect than her own efforts. She opted to file that for later, as another pass of the pain needled through her arm.

“Hermione…” He breathed, at a loss for words.

“It’s fine,” she said tightly as a final wave of pain washed over her. Her eyes opened fully and she watched him trace the lines. Swallowing thickly she replied, “Cursed blade, courtesy of Bellatrix. The one on my neck doesn’t hurt quite as bad, but when you combine them with the cruse from Dolohov…”

Charlie let go of her arm and let out a long breath that he wasn’t aware he’d even been holding. “You ought to have Bill take a look at them. He might be able to help.”

Hermione smiled at the suggestion, “Bill is the reason they are as manageable as they are. He and Fleur broke the curse left over from the blade when Dobby rescued us from the Manor.”

She could tell the story was lost on the older wizard. “Have we never told you about breaking the taboo?”

Charlie leant back in his chair and shook his head, “I’d reckon not.”

“The short of it is that we were captured by snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor,” Hermione began to recount the events that transpired as she laid bleeding on the dark wood floor. She kept it short and condensed, not trusting her state of mind to be able to handle a full dive into the memory.

To his credit Charlie sat in silence, face as unreadable as before. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say a word until she was through.

“Is that what you see?” He asked quietly.

Hermione nodded, “Sometimes. Other times I see Percy and Fred. Sometimes my mind twists the scenes and you all are dead with Voldemort standing over you. Sometimes Greyback gets to finish what he started. Sometimes I get them all at once…”

Charlie gave her hand a squeeze, “Thank you for talking to me, Hermione.”

She smiled at him. “It’s only fair, you talked to me that day.”

Charlie snorted, “I don’t know that I’d exactly call that talking, but I get your sentiment.”

“You were rather like a caveman I suppose,” She responded cheekily, ducking to the side as he made to playfully yank at her hair.

-.-.-

It had been a few hours since Hermione had made her exit, and in that time the three remaining Aurors had ordered in an early lunch and made a headway on the case. They’d sat in a semi-circle around the marker board, going over the case as they ate.

Tonks gestured to the first few victims with a free hand, “Elaine Belmonte was adopted at age seven after both parents were killed in a car accident. The couple that adopted her split and she went with the mum back to Canada. She married our second victim, Marcus, a month ago.”

Blaise grimaced as she continued through what she’d learned about the victims’ times at the various London orphanages.

“Natalie Dormer was adopted at age five after her mum and dad went to prison for murder. She was attending uni in Toronto when she was killed.

“Marcie Collins was adopted as a toddler after her teen mum gave her up. The teen mum didn’t list a father, but with a little sleuthing I found that was because the father was in prison on a domestic charge. The mum died of an overdose on some muggle drug about a month after leaving Marcie at the orphanage. Marcie ended up in New York City to attend uni and married her husband two years ago.”

“What about our three from Ireland?” Harry asked in between bites of his sandwich.

“Katherine Flynn was adopted as an infant and moved to Ireland last summer with her husband. The same for Clara Sweeney, though she broke up with the boyfriend not too long ago and was set to return to Bristol later this month.”

“Then the bloke moves here to London and starts really focusing on his target.” Blaise said, glancing at the open book that Hermione had left.

“Elizabeth Poole and Rose Lawson followed a similar path as the others, but the peculiar murder is that of twenty-six-year-old Penelope Graves.” Tonks replied, flicking a wand at the photo of Penelope. Below the photo lines began to spread out, forming a family tree.

“She entered into the orphanage with her older sister, they were four and six, respectively. Their mum had an addiction problem and refused to name the father. According to the records it was only to be while the mum went through rehab, but the woman running the orphanage began to notice strange encounters around the two.”

“Strange?” Harry asked.

“Magic,” Tonks replied. “She contacted the Ministry, as is usual when a child in a muggle orphanage begins to display magical abilities. The Ministry came in and found them an adoptive family within the magical community. I’m working on unsealing the magical adoption records to find out the mum—it’s rather strange that two children show up as muggles and turn out to be magical.”

Blaise nodded, “Too coincidental.”

Tonks began to explain what she’d found on the half-sister when a charm sounded from the open book beside her. Setting down her food, Tonks pulled the book into her lap, eyes scanning the page quickly.

“Blimey,” She muttered before turning the book towards to boys. “Eva Rosier.”

Blaise felt his eyebrows arch. “Wasn’t she—”

“Disowned? Yes, her father cast her out midway through the first war from the tales my mum told me of the pureblood society.”

Harry shook his head, “No wonder they ended up in the muggle system. She wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere in our world without being crucified.”

Tonks nodded and pulled the book back towards her, flipping through to the next page of the adoption records.

“Shite,” she breathed. “That’s fucking tragic.”

“Oh?” Blaise asked.

“Looks like she had another kid just a few months after exiting rehab, a boy names Justin. He entered the system at age 5 after she OD’d…” Her voice died in her throat. “Merlin, that’s awful. The baby died with her.”

Blaise shared a solemn look with Harry before he inquired about the boy.

Tonks cleared her throat and blinked a few times. “Justin was adopted by a magical family when they noticed he had been experiencing bursts of accidental magic at age ten. The couple that adopted him had previously adopted six other children from the orphanage when the Ministry couldn’t find a suitable family. Finch-Fletchy, from the looks of it. They were brought up on abuse charges seven years ago and were in Azkaban until the massive breakout.”

Harry choked on his sandwich, prompting Blaise to give him a firm smack to the back.

“The Hufflepuff?” Blaise asked, eyebrows knitted together.

“Always was a bit dodgy,” Harry remarked once he’d swallowed his bite.

“Maybe to you, you set a snake on him.”

“I did not! I got the snake to leave him alone.” Harry replied with a roll of his eyes.

“So you say, but no one could possibly know what you said to the snake.”

“Right,” Tonks interrupted before Harry could respond. “I take it you know the bloke?”

The two nodded, “He was in our year. Was an average student, though he was actually fairly smart from what I recall, just pants at exams and homework. Really quiet and kept to himself. He hated Harry though,” Blaise offered.

“It was a big misunderstanding.” Harry defended himself. “And eventually he tolerated me, if you recall the DA. Who adopted the girls?”

Tonks flipped back a page and scanned the document. “Looks like a Pius and Dominique Graves. They were an older couple who split time between London and Dunkirk where Dominique was from. Pius had spent time as an ambassador of sorts over in France before retiring. They sent the girls to Beauxbatons, Dominique’s alma matter. Penelope actually had a flat in France near the Ministry where she’d stay through the week and only came back to London on the weekends to see her sister.”

Blaise blinked and sat back in his chair. His mind was racing through a tangled web of thoughts as he began to speak, “So we’ve got the girls growing up in a rather privileged home, fully integrating into the life of a sacred twenty-eight family. Then you have Justin, who was at an age where he would understand the circumstances that put him in the orphanage, spent five years there before being adopted by a couple that would eventually go to Azkaban for abuse.”

“Justin was bullied through school because they all assumed he was a muggleborn, and for all he knew he was. He faced the same treatment as Hermione. I’d reckon he began to research his family history a bit closer when they began registering muggleborns and discovered quite a scandal.” Harry picked up for him, following his train of thought.

“Repressed memories begin to surface, years of repressed anger at being abused and treated like he was disposable.” Blaise remarked sadly, “He snapped and began to seek revenge on the family that seemingly abandoned him for a better life.”

Tonks tapped her finger against the book, eyebrows knit together in thought. “There is no birth father listed, but given how Eva was disowned I would place money on the father being a married pureblood who used his leverage to hide his indiscretions.”

“How does the half-sister fit in?” Harry asked, glancing at the photo of Poppy Cooke.

“Another affair I reckon, though I’d wager money it was with a muggle woman or squib.” Blaise offered. “Most pureblood men were in some form of arranged marriage and step out quite often on their wives.”

“We need to find Aurora and get her into protective custody, and figure out who the father is.” Tonks said as she tossed the book back on the table. “They’re the last piece of this disjointed family that Justin is looking to kill.”

“We also need to figure out how the hell he is lacing their food too,” Blaise said.

“And what he’s lacing it with, I reckon.” Said Harry. “Brilliant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record I know Justin's name was down for Eton and was incredibly smart, but I'm not afraid to say that I based him being the suspect on the interaction between Blaise and Harry. It was too good to pass up and technically this is AU/Canon divergent :)


	6. 06

Charlie sat back and watched the brunette witch toss her head back and laugh at his story of when Ron was young and would play “magic” with twigs from the orchard. Her laugh was enchanting, pulling a smile onto his face as his own booming laugh began to bubble. He knew Ron would skin him the next time they saw each other, but the story had the desired effect on the woman. He could practically see the tension leaving her body, and although he could still see the cracks in the mask she’d put back up, it was progress.

He owed his own happiness to her in many ways, and it was only fair he repaid the favor. Charlie recalled how easily he would get lost in his own mind after the war—how the voices in his mind reminded him of how he’d left his family to the wolves in the time they needed him the most. He’d often found himself back, running through the castle in the thick of battle, stumbling across bodies of family and friends.

The war that he’d played a minor roll in had manifested in his mind in a way that he’d never expected. He’d felt like he was drowning, wandering aimlessly with no real purpose as he beat himself down again and again over his choices in the war. The amount of times he’d found himself at his absolute low was staggering, but through it all she’d been there to pull him back to reality before he’d lost himself in his mind for good.

She’d helped him see the other side of things, how he’d been doing exactly what they needed of him (and how she shuddered to think of what would have happened if Voldemort added dragons to his army of creatures at the final battle).

It had taken time—though some days it felt if no progress had really been made, if his constant edge of anxiety and fear was anything to go by—but Charlie had found that Hermione had an uncanny way of knowing just when he needed a reality check.

She’d know sometimes long before he even realized how lost he was in his own mind. He suspected it was the same way he could read through her façade now. They’d both seen other at the absolute rock bottom, and he would be remiss not to admit he’d grown fond of her company over the years, despite how many times she’d seen his absolute worst self.

Throughout the rest of their talk he kept finding his eyes flitting to her covered arm, wondering how often it had bothered her and he just hadn’t noticed, and why she’d never mentioned it.

_You’ve hid from the war for so long, what’d you expect?_

The angry red lines that spelled out ‘mudblood’ had caused a visceral response inside him, and it took every ounce of his own self-control to keep in check. He’d wanted to punch something, to pace about shouting profanities about it, and to kill Bellatrix over again. It had surprised him how much the scar had moved him.

His ability to keep in check was tested time and time again as the witch recounted an abridged version of events from their time on the run. Charlie had only gleaned bits and pieces of the war from his family, never feeling the need to pry. As Hermione spoke of her torture, he’d felt a rage bubbling inside that he hadn’t quite felt before.

He’d realized then that there was a lot more about the war that he didn’t know.

_I need to see Bill_ , he decided in that moment.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Hermione stood from the table. She bent down and gave him a quick peck on his cheek, “I need to consult a potions master, but thank you. For pulling my head out of my ass.” She gave him a cheeky smile that he returned as she headed towards the door.

Charlie moved to follow her, “Let me walk you to the apparation point.”

Hermione shook her head softly, “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I need to get a message to Blaise anyway.”

Charlie regarded her carefully, but stopped at the door. Leaning against the frame he gave her a curt nod. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” She said again, turning to give him a hug. “You’re too good to me Charlie Weasley.” She whispered into his ear before heading across the path towards the apparation point. He watched her pull out her wand and conjure the familiar otter, and send it off after a few quiet words. In the blink she was gone, and he was left feeling conflicted.

Charlie lingered a moment, watching the spot where she’d gone from. With a deep breath he turned back to the kitchen, using his wand to conjure a piece of parchment and summon a quill from the den. He scribbled a quick note to his mother, letting her know he was off to see Bill and that he’d be back for dinner to help her with the garden.

He made quick work of getting to the bank in Diagon Alley, quietly navigating the crowded streets and ducking into the marbled entrance. He skirted the edge of the entry way, passing to the hall that led to the administrative offices. Charlie turned into the first office in the hall, eyes lingering on the gold ‘ _Weasley_ ’ as he moved past the ornately decorated door.

Bill sat behind the desk, a mountain of parchment in front of him and a stack of files haphazardly leaned against the desk on the floor. Charlie chuckled at the sight of the disorganized office, a far cry from Bill’s usual orderly standards.

Bill glanced up from the parchment he was writing on, eyebrow raising when he spotted his younger brother.

“Swamped?” Charlie asked, shifting into the chair across from Bill, careful to move the box of files.

“Audit.” Bill responded miserably.

Charlie made a face, “Got a chance for a bite? Thought about popping over to _The Pitch_ for a spot of lunch.”

Bill looked around at the chaos of his office and let out a long sigh. “I could use a breather, actually.” He ran a hand over his scared face and let out a groan before standing from his chair. Charlie watched him grab the jacket from the hook behind his desk and shrug it on over his white long-sleeved button up.

“What brings you in to the Alley?” Bill asked as they exited the bank and headed down the alley towards the pub.

“Lunch,” Charlie replied easily, turning his head away from his brother ever so slightly.

“Liar,” Bill laughed. “Last minute shopping for mum, then? Trying to figure out what I’m getting her so you can rush out and beat me to it?”

Charlie shook his head, smiling. “Not at all, in fact _my_ gift will be arriving tomorrow morning.”

Bill raised his eyebrows as he and Charlie split around a group of witches huddled in the middle of the Alley, heavily into a dispute on which apothecary to buy from. “Oh really?”

“Yes, and I know for a fact you are using your child to make mum her gift. I’m a bit child-less—well, as far as I know—so I don’t reckon I can poach your gift.” Charlie replied with a shrug, chuckling alongside his brother.

“One day you’ll understand using your child’s, erm… _talent_ for finger paints, as a means to a priceless gift.”

Charlie made a noise, “We’ll see about that.”

“No kids in your future? I mean I know you’d put off the thought while at the Reserve, but I thought you might have changed your mind being back and all.”

“Got to have a good witch for that, yeah?”

“Too right,” Bill replied as they neared the pub. “Any lookers?”

Charlie shook his head slowly, though he bit his lip. “Not exactly.”

This surprised his older brother, “Oh?’ Then the realization dawned on him. “Oh. That’s the lunch then.”

Charlie barely had a chance to duck his head as they entered the pub, feeling his ears burning.

“Oh, my sweet baby brother,” Bill said happily. “All blushing like a teenager.”

Charlie shoved his brother and took a seat at a corner table. “Prick.”

Bill kept his smile as he slid into the chair across from him. “I haven’t seen you like this in a while. Who’s got your eye?”

Charlie rolled his eyes, “I wouldn’t say anyone’s caught my eye. It’s a relatively new development that I’m working through.”

He waved to the waitress as she stopped by their table for a drink order. Charlie got his usual, the draft of the day, while Bill opted for a glass of water.

“For the record, this isn’t a solicitation for dating advice. I reckon I’m just fine in that department,” Charlie said as the waitress left.

“Dating, no, casual flings? Yes. When’s the last time you had a good, honest go at a relationship?”

Charlie lent back in his chair, deep in thought. Truthfully he wasn’t really sure when he’d had an honest go at a relationship. His job with the dragons kept him away from the tiny wizarding village flanking the Reserve more often than not, and he wasn’t about to attempt any sort of relationship with one of the crew on the Reserve.

“Hogwarts?” His statement was more of a question than an answer.

“Exactly,” Bill said pointedly as the waitress brought them their drinks. The two brothers put in their usual order and the waitress disappeared into the back room where the kitchen was.

“But, since this isn’t—what did you call it? A solicitation for advice,” Bill began, “What do I owe this nice lunch you’re buying me?”

Charlie rolled his eyes again, mouth twitching. There was a part of him that didn’t want to ruin the good mood of their meal, but there was an even bigger part of him that wanted answers to questions he’d long ago run from.

Idly he ran a thumb across the lip of his pint glass, trying to organize his thoughts. He could feel Bill’s eyes boring into him, and he decided that it was time to stop running from the war.

“I need to know what I missed. In the war that is,” He muttered, not daring to look up from his drink

There was silence, followed by the scooting of a chair as Bill sunk back, arms crossed. The elder Weasley studied his brother closely, not bothering to hide his surprise at the man’s sudden interest in tales of the war. For the past five years Charlie had been ducking the talk, opting to leave the past in the past. Bill knew that it was because he felt guilty for not being there, and understood that Charlie wasn’t ready to hear about what happened while he was protecting the Reserve.

“What do you want to know,” Bill finally said, keeping his voice low. He kept his eyes on his brother, watching the man as he fidgeted with the pint glass, arms tense.

“All of it,” Charlie said, finally meeting his brother’s gaze. “I spoke with Hermione earlier, and she told me about the Malfoy Manor…” His voice trailed off, understanding that Bill knew what brought him here.

“She spoke about it so bloody casually—nearly dying and it was like another Tuesday for her.” Charlie continued; his eyes ablaze. “Everyone’s done their processing and I need to know what else happened while I was away.”

Bill felt the raw emotion in his brother more than he saw it, and for the first time in his life Bill was nearly rendered speechless at what Charlie had said. He was granted a few moments of reprieve as the waitress brought out their food, but Bill knew they’d likely need takeaway boxes because neither was much interested in food at the moment.

Bill told Charlie everything that had happened then, starting from the night Voldemort was reborn. He knew that Charlie had been filled in on some of the high points along the way, but he also knew that his mother censored a lot of the events in her letters to the Reserve.

Bill watched Charlie sink further into his chair as the information washed over him, but he pressed on, telling him about the Department of Mysteries, of the trials the trio had gone through. He hinted at the dangers Ginny faced while at Hogwarts, but gave a wide berth on the topic as it was her story to tell and not his.

When he was finished his tales from the war they sat in silence, Charlie transfixed on the pint glass, mind reeling.

“I know you blame yourself,” Bill said bluntly. “What you need to know is that none of us blame you. We knew what you’d signed up for on the Reserve, and that it would mean that you would have a completely different role in the war once the Order started again. Honestly, I think mum was secretly glad you were off in Romania, away from the fight.”

“I think I’ll always blame myself. I have a habit of being in the wrong place when I’m needed.”

Bill shook his head, “I’d beg to differ.”

The younger Weasley looked up finally, and Bill nearly felt his heart break at the sorrow he saw. “I wasn’t there for Gin. I wasn’t there when Perce bailed. I wasn’t there for the Department of Mysteries. I wasn’t there when Mad Eye died, when George lost an ear, or when Percy died. I wasn’t there for the Reserve. I. Wasn’t. There.” His words grew fiercer as he spoke, as did the grip on the pint glass.

For a moment Bill was concerned that Charlie would break the glass in his hands. “You forget the person across from you wasn’t there for Ginny either—you had her letters the same as me and I missed it too. She had four siblings at the school and it didn’t matter because she was possessed by a fucking horcrux. I’m a bloody curse breaker, I’m supposed to notice those things!

“I wasn’t there for Moody or George, or hell even Percy if you recall. I shoulder as much guilt but don’t think either of us are to blame. Voldemort started that war and he’s the reason we’re so bloody fucked.”

Bill ran a thumb over his drink, taking a breath to compose himself. He glanced across the table at his brother who’d hunched further over the table, knuckles white from the grip on the pint glass. His face was angry, but Bill knew the words were trapped in his mind as they always were.

A sigh escaped his lips then, “But you were there to pick up the pieces after the battle. Don’t pretend like I don’t know that you and Hermione kept mum going. You moved back, keep tabs on the lot of us—much better than me and I’m the fucking eldest. That should be my job, but you did it without fail and without being asked. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay the two of you for helping mum like you did…”

He watched Charlie sink back into the chair, groaning and running a hand through his wavy locks.

“I’d reckon we needed you more then than we ever did during the war.” Bill said finally.

“Don’t try and flatter me,” Charlie said weakly. “It didn’t work for Hermione earlier, and it isn’t going to work now. I’ll spend my life making up for being gone, but now I know what being gone actually meant.”

“What exactly happened earlier?” Bill asked. “You’ve mentioned Hermione twice now, and you had drinks the other night. I wasn’t aware you were so close.”

The statement was a lie—Bill was fully aware of the odd connection between the two that had started after the war. He found it funny they had assumed they were covert in their nightly meetings, but Bill (as well as the rest of the family) had known since the start. They’d helped each other, and for that he was grateful. He’d grown to care for Hermione like his own sister, and seeing her straight from the Malfoy Manor had taken a toll on him and Fleur. He was so sure she was dead when they appeared in the garden, and then in a blink she was simply gone with his brother and their best friend.

As the eldest of seven Bill constantly worried about his siblings, and after the war concluded that included Hermione and Harry. They’d had their fair share of chats along the way, mostly spent helping her overcome the after effects of her cursed scar. He knew she still dealt with her own griefs, sometimes doing a better job hiding it than others.

He’d also known about his brothers own demons, so if the two could help one another he wasn’t going to interfere.

Bill was also perceptive, especially when the two would sit near one another at the weekly dinners at the Burrow, heads together deep in conversations. He credited the wolf in him for his enhanced sense of hearing, for without it he wouldn’t know that the two still stumbled upon one another in times of their greatest needs.

And while there was a pang of sadness that there were things about his brother that he couldn’t help, he was forever thankful that the young woman that had marched into their lives all those years ago was helping where he could not.

Charlie’s laugh brought him from his thoughts. It was quiet and breathless, but Bill caught his brother’s eye. “Don’t make this into a whole thing, Bill.”

“I’m worried you know.”

“You’re always worried.”

“Is she alright?”

Charlie nodded, “I think so. For now, anyway. She dropped by the Burrow earlier, I think to see mum. We talked, she…” He trailed off for a moment, biting his lip.

“Well to be frank she had a rough go of it,” Charlie said finally. Bill opened his mouth to being a line of questions but closed it as Charlie raised his hand. “It’s alright, we worked through it a bit. Well until that fucking scar started—”

“Her scar hurt?” Bill interrupted, sitting forward in his chair.

Charlie looked at him a moment before he nodded, “Yeah. She explained what it was and it’s a damn good thing mum already offed that bitch, because I’d be hunting her down instead of sitting here with you. This led into the short version of events at the Manor, and from what you told me she left a lot of shit out.”

His words were hard, and they were not lost on Bill.

“Not that I blame her for not wanting to live through it again, but—I—I.” Charlie paused again, running another hand through his hair. He was contemplating telling Bill about his reaction, confiding about his confusing bout of anger and sudden urge to protect her.

Realization struck Bill then as he let out a soft ‘oh’, followed by a much louder “Oooh.”

Charlie furrowed his brow, face full of confusion.

“Oh Charlie, what a mess.” Bill mused quietly, a full smile blooming on his face.

“Bill? What—”

“How did I not see it before?” Bill asked himself, ignoring his brother. “It’s so painfully obvious.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Sweet, baby brother of mine. It all makes sense now.” Bill quipped as conjured up a couple of takeaway boxes.

“Bill I swear to Merlin I will punch you in that ugly mug of yours,” Charlie threatened through gritted teeth, “If you don’t tell me what the hell you are going on about!”

“In due time, Charles. Once you sort it out for yourself, you’ll understand.” Bill said, a twinkle in his eyes.

“The second we are out that door you better apparate to the bank because I’m giving you five seconds before I start punching.” Charlie replied, eyes rolling.

-.-.-

Blaise had returned her patronus by saying he’d meet her at the Twins’ shop and give her a quick debrief on the situation. She’d sent another one back that she had it handled, but she’d let him know if they needed to reach out to Malfoy (hoping that she could push it off to Blaise to handle if it came to it).

Blaise’s leopard came back with a huff, staring her down as she stood in the middle of Diagon Alley. It said nothing, but the sentiment wasn’t lost on her. She could see the irritation in the white animal as plain as if her partner was standing there with her. With a chuckle she pushed into the familiar joke shop.

A bell chimed above her, signaling to the owners that a customer had arrived.

“Welcome-“

“To-“

“Weasley’s-“

“Hermione?”

“Wheezes!”

Hermione raised an eyebrow as the two redheads landed gracefully at the first landing of the steps behind the register. Fred’s face broke into a grin as George finished the welcome, unaware of his twin’s misstep. He shot her a wink as he hopped the banister and landed with a loud ‘thud’. Above him George rolled his eyes.

“For a man with a bum back, you sure do like to do stupid stunts.” His voice was disapproving but his face was lit with amusement.

“I’ll be feeling that in the morning,” Fred admitted, though he rubbed at his lower back as if it were already hurting. “Sometimes I forget I’m not your average twenty-five year old.”

“That would imply you were average to begin with.” Hermione offered as she leaned against the pay counter, shooting him a smirk.

“She has a point, brother of mine!” George exclaimed before he hopped the banister as well. He landed beside his brother with a graceful ‘thud’ and clapped his hands together. “And while I’d love to stay and swoon you Hermione, I’m late for a lunch date with Katie.”

“Then why are you still here talking? Shoo!”

George grinned at her and planted a sloppy kiss to her temple before rushing towards the back room where the floo connection was. Hermione glared at his back as she wiped the slobber with the cuff of her robes, “Honestly!”

Fred chuckled approvingly and offered her a sympathetic look. “What brings you to the Alley this early in the day?”

“Day drinking,” she replied offhandedly, though she really did wish she had time to pop over to the _Pitch_ for a quick drink.

“Can’t say I don’t disapprove,” Fred replied. He flicked a wand towards the front door so that the ‘open’ sign would transform into the ‘out to lunch’ one. A shimmer of magic rippled along the store windows as the wards settled in as if the shop had closed. Purple shutters slid over the glass, dimming the shop slightly.

“Let’s take this to the back office where my comfy chairs are.” Fred said as he gestured to the door that George had disappeared behind only a few moments ago.

“I’ve got a bit of that muggle pain cream if you want it.” Hermione offered, digging into the inner pocket of her robes. She pulled out a small tub and tossed it at him.

Fred caught it gratefully. “I don’t know what’s in this stuff or why it smells so foul, but it’s about the only thing that works anymore.”

“My mum swore by it,” She said with a sad smile. “Said it helped her hands after a long day in the office. Sometimes it helps my ribs, if I’m particularly stressed out.”

Fred shot her a knowing look as he nodded, one hand disappearing behind his back to apply the cool white cream to his back. His body gave an involuntary shudder as the cream began to heat up against his skin, instantly soothing the ache. He quickly capped the tub and handed it back to her as they entered the small office space.

Reaching out, Fred gestured to the closest chair while he took the one off to the side. Hermione took a seat in the chair, “I’m just by for a quick chat. I’m hoping you’d help me crack a mystery so that I don’t have to go to my next option.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, “I’m flattered we were your first choice!”

“Second, actually.” Hermione said with a smirk. She watched as he clutched at his chest, feigning being hurt by her admission.

“At least tell me who the bloke is that came first if you’re going to rub it in!”

“A woman needs her secrets,” She giggled. “Though not that it matters who it was, because I’m here now and that’s all that counts, yeah?”

Fred gave her a ‘hmph’ and crossed his arms, “Always second rate to the Princess of Gryffindor.”

Hermione groaned, “Oh not that again!”

“You’ve wounded my pride,” Fred said with a cheeky smile. “I think I’m owed a use of the nickname.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, “Well, that leaves you with three more uses. Hope you used this time wisely.”

Fred’s face fell for a moment as he realized that he’d used up one of the few uses he had left of the nickname. Softly he cursed, “Why’d I ever agree to that arrangement?”

“Beats me, I’d have let you call me that for the rest of my life after all you’ve done.” Hermione said honestly. Though she put up a good front that the nickname bothered her (as any nickname seemed to do), she found that she didn’t really mind it coming from Fred. Perhaps it was because of all they’d been through, or maybe it was just the tiny bit of her conscience that made her let him have one victory, but she found that she rather liked it. That didn’t stop her from putting up a fight, or making a deal that he could only use it five times before she’d start hexing him (a deal he was all too eager to accept).

Fred’s face said he wanted to pry at the statement, but after reading her exhausted look he opted to file it for another day. Instead he shook his head, “You take me for a sucker?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione said simply. “A sucker that can hopefully tell me what someone would do with centella asiatica that isn’t related to burn paste.”

A look of surprise found itself on Fred’s face, reminding her too much of Charlie’s look a little while ago. She bit back the chuckle at the similarities as the shock dissolved into admiration.

“To be frank, I’m not sure what you’d be able to use it for. That stuff is too volatile of an ingredient. The magical properties are too unstable to really experiment with—well unless the experimenter had a death wish.” He tapped his chin in thought, “Centella asiatica has incredible regenerative properties, which helps the skin regenerate after being burned. That regenerative property is part of why it reacts so badly with magic. It’s too strong.”

Hermione’s brows knitted together as she took in the information.

“Besides, the stuff is incredibly rare, stupidly expensive, and tightly regulated so I don’t know that anyone would be actually experimenting with it for any good reason.”

She nodded, “I had the same thoughts. I can’t find a single use outside of the medicinal means, so for someone to steal it they either really need the stronger paste, or they are doing something bad with it.”

“George and I bounced around an idea for using the centella asiatica to cause calluses to sell alongside the Bulbadox Powder, but honestly it wouldn’t be worth trying because of how expensive it is.” Fred admitted, “And I’ve had enough near-death experiences to even think about trying to experiment with that stuff. I rather like my bits where they are.”

Hermione smiled at him, “I think Angelina would have the same sentiment.”

A look of pride flashed through his eyes—Hermione watched his lips turn up into a smile, and for once she was impressed that the older man hadn’t taken the bait for such a crude joke.

“She does rather like my bits,” He said finally with a chuckle.

Hermione groaned as his laughter filled the small office.

\---

“I’ll pop over first thing in the morning,” Blaise offered her once she’d returned to the office.

She shook her head, “No, it’s alright. I’ve got to face it sometime.”

“Face it? Granger—”

“You know what I mean. I’ve been avoiding anything that has relation to her—”

“Oi, what am I then?” Tonks exclaimed from across the table.

“The pet that we were allowed to keep,” Harry offered, ducking her well-aimed quill. “Remus did always say you looked cute when you scrunched up your face to change appearances.”

“Keep it up and I’ll give Teddy sweets before you babysit next time.” She said, narrowing her eyes. Harry visibly paled and nodded at her, fully aware how quickly the son of Remus Lupin could get hyped up when chocolate was involved.

Hermione chuckled at the banter, “I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s my goose chase.”

“That technically has nothing to do with the case, but you’re bloody convinced it is.” Blaise muttered.

“Precisely.”

“And you’re convinced that Justin’s using this—whatever the hell it’s called,” Harry said with a wave of his hand.

“I think it’s certainly a possibility,” Hermione admitted. “You know he was near the top of our potions and herbology courses, so he has the knowledge. I just need to speak with Malfoy and get a potioneer’s take on a couple of hypotheses.”

“I still don’t see why I can’t tag along,” Blaise muttered with what was suspiciously close to a pout.

Hermione rolled her eyes at her partner, “Do you want to ring in while I’m there?”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate with a response before offering her a smug grin that set her nerves off.

She narrowed her eyes, “Don’t you have some new step-father to go meet in Italy?”

Blaise’s eyes lit up at the howls of laughter from Tonks and Harry, much to her confusion. “Oh, haven’t you heard? It seems that my darling mother’s latest conquest has a flair for the dramatic.”

“Looked himself up in his castle, he did.” Tonks added between laughs.

“Refuses to come out,” Harry said as he wiped a tear from his eye.

“So suffice to say, the wedding is off.” Blaise finished. “Thank Merlin too—the prick had horrid taste in wine.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, “How do you own a castle in Italy and have horrid taste in wine?”

“Exactly!” Blaise threw his hands in the air with the exclamation.

“Honestly Zabini I was making fun of you, but clearly you feel strongly about this.”

“I’m a pretentious prick who excels at three things: my job, my sex life, and consuming wine.”

“At least he’s self-aware,” Tonks offered against Hermione’s groan.


	7. 07

On Friday Hermione landed in the lobby of Malfoy’s office which was situated on the top two floors of the administrative building adjacent to St. Mungo’s. It was early, just barely past 08:00 but she was eager to get the meeting over with so she could go back to avoiding all things Bellatrix related.

_Well, most things,_ she thought as the mental images of Andromeda, Tonks and Teddy crossed her mind’s eye. She strode past the lifts and down the wide hall towards a large, tall, brown desk with a familiar young witch sitting behind it. The name plate on the desk read _Astoria Greengrass_ , confirming her suspicions.

The blonde witch glanced up at her, eyes widening a fraction as she took in Hermione’s red robes.

“Is Malfoy in?” Hermione asked as she neared the desk.

Astoria’s eyes flicked towards the door beside her desk, “Well…”

“I’m not here for trouble,” Hermione reasoned. She leant against the desk, “Honestly. I just need a quick chat with him. Like an unofficial consult.”

Astoria eyed her wearily before she pulled a pad from across her desk to scribble a note. The tiny script made it impossible to read from her vantage point, but the large unmistakable script of Draco Malfoy nearly sent her into laughter as it bloomed under Astoria’s note.

**_ WHAT. _ **

Astoria sighed as the door beside her opened revealing a surprised looking Draco Malfoy. Hermione shot him a smirk, “Do pick up your jaw, Malfoy.”

He blinked at her, a flash of annoyance crossing his eyes before he stepped aside and motioned for her to enter his office. Hermione complied and made quick strides, listening as he told Astoria not to interrupt unless there was an emergency.

As Malfoy closed the door she swept around the room with her wand out, scanning for any listening charms or dark objects that may pry in on their conversation. While it wasn’t strictly a protocol they had, it was a habit of nearly all Aurors who were consulting outside of the Ministry.

When she was satisfied they wouldn’t be spied on she moved back towards Malfoy’s desk, ignoring his look of indignation.

“Are you quite done? Satisfied I don’t have any dark objects?”

Her eyebrows arched in surprise, “What?”

“Sorry to disappoint, I know you are itching for a reason to issue an arrest warrant.”

“Honestly,” she scoffed. “You were robbed, I’d think you’d appreciate me taking the time to make sure we wouldn’t be spied on.”

“You don’t think I’d check myself?”

“And you don’t think I’d check for _myself_?”

His mouth twisted as if he were about to hurl a familiar insult, but he stopped himself with a heavy sigh. She watched him pull the suit coat taught before taking a seat at his chair, motioning for her to follow suit.

“I’ll stand,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. The scar on her arm chose that moment to twinge and she clenched her jaw tightly as to no make a noise in surprise. Carefully she pressed her arm into her side while she focusing her attention to the man across from her who had clearly noticed something was amiss. “I don’t want to make this a long meeting as I’m sure we both have much more important things to tend to.”

“Obviously,” his voice was dripping in sarcasm and it distantly reminded her of their old potions professor. His eyes raked over her carefully, pausing at her arm as if he understood why she’d suddenly taken to pressing it against her body. To her surprise he opted not to press it, instead he returned his gaze to her face, settling for a look of boredom. “I take it this is about my missing supplies?”

“Technically yes, specifically what you would get by combining it with powdered oxhorn and ingesting it.”

It was his turn to arch his eyebrows in surprise. “Death. Instant death, to be more precise.”

“I’m going to need a bit more description than that, Malfoy.” She responded tiredly.

His infuriating smirk set her on edge, but she bit her tongue. “The magical properties of each powder are incredibly strong and volatile. When combined the magic in each will fight for dominance and creates an unstable compound that can be set off with even the slightest trace of magic. That’s why oxhorn is replaced with aloe.”

Hermione nodded in understanding. “If it’s just the two powders would it explode as well?

“No,” Draco said with a shake of his head. “Kept separate of other ingredients the powders would cause a much cleaner death. Ingesting the powder would disturb the magical properties enough for them to react within the body. Having never seen it, I can only theorize, but I would imagine that the shock from the instability would shock the body. Think if it like an electrostatic charge.”

She didn’t bother to hide her astonishment to his muggle reference.

Draco rolled his eyes, “That charge would likely stop vital organs on contact rendering you dead in a matter of seconds.”

“Mimicking the killing curse without the magic,” she muttered to herself. “How fast would the powders disappear from the body?”

“Quickly—that amount of magical charge would cause them to decompose nearly instantly.”

“What if the powders were added to another medium…like food? Or a drink?” The theories were spinning in her head now.

Draco was quiet for a moment as he pondered her question. “I suppose,” he said finally. “I suppose that it would weaken the magical charge initially as it worked through the components of the _food_. It wouldn’t take long for the centella asiatica powder and oxhorn to eat through the medium though, and it would still result in death, though not so instantly.”

Hermione pursed her lips, deep in thought. If the two ingredients had been paired together in a powder form and somehow slipped into the food of each victim—

“How long would the powder last in the body if ingested through food? I mean to say if I ate some Chinese takeaway that was laced with it, how long would it be before it was decomposed entirely?”

Draco cocked his head slightly, considering her scenario. “Once the powders actually ate through the components of the food you’d die instantly, but it could take a few minutes for that to occur in the body. I’d estimate that within minutes of your death any trace of the powder would be gone. Not as fast as ingesting the powders directly, but still quick.”

Her next question was interrupted by a chiming on her watch, “Zabini to Granger.” Smoke began to swirl from the watch face as she raised her arm to be level with her head.

“Granger in, Malfoy onsite.”

“Did I miss the good stuff?” The smokey bust of her partner asked with a wry grin.

“If you mean your partner attempting entrapment, then yes.” Draco’s voice flitted across the room causing Blaise to laugh.

“Taught her well.”

“Excuse you?” Hermione demanded with a glare.

“That’s the first lesson we had love. You’d remember if you hadn’t been so focused on getting me tossed from the academy.”

“Hardly,” She responded with an eye roll. “As it is you’ve missed everything, but I wouldn’t expect anything less from your _impeccable_ timing.”

“It really is a wonder,” Draco offered.

“Piss off, both of you.”

“You’re the one who called,” Hermione reminded him.

“Right, silly me for hoping I’d get read in on the status of your wild goose chase.”

“You ought to know better,” Hermione chuckled. “Honestly, how long have we been partners?”

His reply was muffled, but she was fairly sure he’d said ‘too long’.

“Anyway, I believe I figured out our murder weapon. Weapons, I should say.”

“That powder?”

“Yes, when paired with powdered oxhorn it’s quite deadly. I’m confident that’s what’s in the food, but I’m not sure how he’s lacing it.”

“Could be staking out and using a Confundus charm,” Blaise theorized. “Listen we’re still working on Fletchy’s employment history. There are a few gaps between his last two jobs but he’s got a current potioneer’s license so he has to be practicing somewhere. Malfoy, do you have any leads we can go to, to track him down?”

“Fletchy?” Draco asked in surprise.

“The Huffle—”

“I know who you mean,” Draco cut him off. “We hired him two weeks ago. He’s been at a conference in France this week to renew his licensing for St. Mungo’s. “

“That’d be why his employment hasn’t tipped anything yet—nothing under six months shows in our logs. Fuck!” Blaise’s frustrated groan filled the room as a crash sounded outside the office.

Hermione turned, arm extended with her wand trained on the door.

“The fuck—” Blaise started before another crash sounded.

“Malfoy! Open up! I know you’re in there! Let me in or Astoria dies!”

Hermione cursed softly, “Blaise we have a hostage situation. I’ve got an extraction plan, but I don’t know if it will work.”

Another crash sounded, this time shaking the door. “I’m going to let him in and try and calm him down.”

“Granger—”

Hermione hit the side of her watch and ended the call before turning it off. She turned slightly, “Let him in and trust me.”

Draco clenched his jaw, clearly wanting to argue but he complied.

“Malfoy!”

“Give me a second,” Draco called out unsteadily as he reached the door.

“Slowly,” Hermione whispered. “I need to trap him in here long enough to let the Auror’s get here.”

Draco nodded fractionally as he slowly opened the door. He braced himself as Justin threw it the rest of the way open, wand brandished towards them as Astoria stood beside him, arm around her neck. Hermione made a show of putting her wand away, hoping it would help ease Justin’s temper.

The young Hufflepuff sneered at her and roughly shoved Astoria back towards her desk. Hermione flinched slightly as the other woman cried out from the impact. The sound didn’t seem to faze Justin as he slammed the door shut, wand moving between her and Draco with a quick precision.

“Over to the Auror, Malfoy.” He snapped, eyes looking wild. Draco slowly shuffled back across to Hermione, never taking his eyes from the man.

“I need the shipment of centella asiatica powder that came in this morning, and you are going to go down to the labs and get it.” Justin said, voice hard.

“The shipment’s been used already,” Draco replied. “We had to put a rush on the burn paste this morning to replenish our stock.”

“Lies! I saw the shipping manifest and know it came in this morning! You couldn’t possibly have had the time to use it all.” Justin spat towards Draco, gripping his wand tightly. “You will take me to the shipment, and you,” he pointed his wand at Hermione, “will take me to Christopher Crabbe.”

“He’s in prison,” Hermione said slowly.

“Which is why I’ll need an Auror escort.” Justin replied as if it were obvious.

Several things began to click in her head then, and she let out a soft ‘oh’ under her breath. “On one condition.”

The maniacal grin on Justin’s face grew wider, “You are in no position to barter here, Granger.”

“I think I am,” Hermione said evenly though her heart was racing as she watched the wild look in his eye. It was unnerving how he stared at them with a thousand-meter stare. “You want revenge—the same as me and I can help you, but you have to help me first.”

His face faltered for a moment, jaw clenching as she continued. “They put you in that home, they set you up for a life of torment. You’re their bastard child that was thrown away while your sisters got the silver spoon. Where was your spoon, Justin?”

Her words were setting him off she noted as he began to pace, wand still trained on her. She watched him twitch slightly at the word ‘torment’ and knew she was on the right path.

“The beat you. They hexed you. They made you beg for your life.”

Justin let out a feral growl then and turned towards her in a rage. A purple hex shot over her shoulder and blasted through the window of the office, sending shards of glass exploding. Hermione let out a hiss in pain as if her arm had twinged again. She concentrated on screwing up her face as if she were in pain, faltering slightly as she felt Draco stiffen beside her.

“What do you know about torture?!” Justin demanded as he sent another hex towards the wall, unaware of her hiss. Hermione let out a groan, startling both men in the office as she grasped her arm. She dug her nails into the scar, piercing until she felt the well of blood spill across her skin.

“What—”

Hermione pulled back the fabric from her arm and held it up for him to see. “Don’t forget what I am, Justin.”

She let out another cry as if the scar was hurting her and she doubled over. Hermione made sure to keep her eyes trained on Justin, taking in how unsettled he looked with her bleeding arm.

“Make her stop!” Justin cried, wand pointed towards Draco while one hand grasped at his hair, pulling it in frustration. Hermione knew he was spiraling now.

_Just a moment longer._

“What the fuck do you want me to do?” Draco demanded looking between him and the bleeding witch.

Hermione let out another cry, this time prompting Draco to crouch beside her looking lost. In a flash he watched her arm grasp something in her robes and send a silver blur at him. He could have sworn he saw her wink as the world around him begun to spin.

-.-.-

“Son of a bitch!” Blaise shouted, slamming a hand against the wall. He stalked out of the conference room, searching wildly for Tonks and Potter. He’d hoped they were close so he could send them out before finding Robards, but luck wasn’t on his side that morning.

“Potter!” He shouted down the hall, “Tonks!”

He was sprinting now, sidestepping anyone lingering in the hallway as he went. A deep voice called out to him from behind. Blaise whipped around, ready to tell the person to piss off, but the remark died in his throat when he realized the voice belonged to the Deputy Head of the DMLE, Gregory Davies.

Davies fully exited his office, his attention on the young Auror. “Zabini!” He barked.

Blaise would be the first to admit the man intimidated him. Davies was a full head taller than him, and was twice as broad. He always wore a serious look on his face and his dark eyes were menacing when you were on the receiving end of a reprimand.

Davies had been promoted just after Blaise and Hermione had graduated from the Auror Academy, and he had to admit it was much more of a pleasant experience working with him than Robards, despite the sheer terror he felt when in the senior Auror’s presence. Davies had a bit of a reputation about him, a no-nonsense leader who worked diligently though the war to defy the infiltration. He’d single-handedly taken out a group of four death eaters who were terrorizing a shop in Diagon Alley and had seen to it the half-blooded owner went into hiding in a safe location. The rumor was that he’d coordinated with Minister Shacklebolt—then an Auror on the run—and a network of safe houses to keep him safe.

Blaise was sure that seniority was the only thing keeping him from the Head position, especially given the history with him and the Minister.

“Sir.” Zabini said once he’d backtracked far enough to stand in front of his superior. “We’ve got a hostage situation at Draco Malfoy’s office space. Top floor of the St. Mungo’s administrative building.”

Davies met his eyes and brought his watch to his mouth, repeating what Zabini had told him. The brilliant silver of the band seemed to glow brighter against his dark skin as the words were absorbed into the watch face.

“Tactical team has been alerted.” Davies said before pointing ahead. “Tonks and Potter are in with Robards, follow me.”

“Sir,” Blaise said falling into pace beside him. “We’ve got an Auror inside—I need to get my team and go.”

Beside him Davies’ stride faltered, noticing the missing partner. “Granger?”

“Yes. She was consulting about our mystery poison.” Blaise’s words were rushed, desperate to get approval to leave. “Sir—”

“Go,” Davies cut him off. “I don’t need the brief now. You and the tactical team should get there at the same time. Do _not_ enter without them.”

Blaise gave him a half of a nod before sprinting towards the emergency lifts that would take him to a one-way apparation point.

Davies turned and opened the door to his superior’s office. There was a grunt of surprise before Robards barked that he’d explicitly requested privacy. Gregory resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man, instead he set his jaw. “Hostage over at the Malfoy office. Tactical team has been sent, Zabini is en-route. One of us and Malfoy confirmed.”

There was a beat of silence before Tonks and Harry spoke, attention fully on their Deputy Head.

“Fletchy.”

“Hermione.”

Davies nodded at Harry. The young wizard wasted no time in scrambling for the door, Tonks close behind him. He stepped to the side, allowing them a quicker exit.

Robards stood from his desk, moving after them looking cross. “Why wasn’t I notified first?!” He barked, face turning purple.

It took a lot of restraint and effort not to let the insulting retort out of his mouth, but somehow Davies managed. “Perhaps, sir, because we were notified not even three minutes ago. Zabini caught me on the way here and I felt it prudent to dispatch the tactical team immediately. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Robards seethed at him. “You forget your place, Davies. This is _my_ department.” His voice had an edge to it, though Davies was used to it.

“Keep singling out two of the brightest Aurors to come up in years and it won’t be for long,” Davies replied before he turned and strode from the office, his pace quickening with each step.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“We have a hostage situation with one of our own, where the fuck do you think I’m going?” Davies shouted at him, finally losing his patience.

-.-.-

Draco groaned as he pushed himself up from the floor. The wind had been knocked out of him when he’d landed on the hard surface, and he was sure that he was going to have quite a few bruises. He surveyed his surroundings, confused when he wasn’t met with the familiar décor of his office.

“Where—”

“Stay here, I’ll send Zabini when we have the all clear.” Her voice pulled his eyes from the décor.

“Granger?”

“My place. I’ll explain later, don’t leave.” Hermione said hurriedly, heading towards her door.

“Your arm—”

Hermione shut the door before the question could be asked, turning on her heel and appearing in the lobby of Malfoy’s office. She landed near the lifts and crouched, wand out. From her vantage she had a clear view of the front desk and was relieved to see Astoria wasn’t there. She could only hope that the witch had some sense about her and had hidden.

There was a commotion from the side of Astoria’s desk, just out of her field of vision. The sound of glass breaking and a furious scream met her ears and Hermione cast a quick muffling spell on her feet. Slowly she inched towards the desk, wand trained.

She saw him before she heard him, and she fired off a nonverbal stunner. The spell clipped the target’s shoulder, causing him to stumble forward. She used the leverage to cast another, but Justin was anticipating her next move and dropped to the floor.

He shot the familiar purple hex from earlier at her. She easily dodged with it with a quick roll. Another jet of light was coming or her, and she hastily threw up a shield. Pointing her wand at the desk, she cast a nonverbal _bombarda_.

Justin hissed as the exploding wood hit him, but it didn’t deter him. Hermione cursed, throwing another stunner at him. Justin threw a shield up, quickly blocking the spell. He lunged at her then, and Hermione quickly jumped to the side, tossing her wand to her other hand and firing off a slicing hex.

The hex struck his leg, but like with her _bombarda_ it didn’t appear to faze him. Blood began to seep into his pant leg, blooming across the khaki cloth of the trousers. He sent a rapid series of hexes at her then, her hastily thrown shield only able to block the first three. A well placed slicing hex collided with her shoulder, and Hermione stifled a cry as the blood began to trickle down her arm.

Justin lunged at her again, wand forgotten. Hermione grimaced and braced herself, leaning into his momentum. Their bodies collided, but the leverage she’d made by lowering herself helped her toss him off her and into the wall.

His hand caught the neck of her robes and he pulled tight, bringing her with him. She struggled a moment as the rough fabric tightened on her neck, kicking her legs wildly at him. Justin let out a laugh and shoved her to the ground, and for a moment Hermione was back at the Manor staring into the eyes of Bellatrix.

A fire lit inside her, unwilling to repeat history. She used every last ounce of her strength and shoved against her attacker, sending him stumbling back. She scrambled to her feet as he pointed his wand at her, mouth forming the first syllable of the killing curse.

Time slowed then, as Hermione felt the air leave her lungs. Around her thunder sounded, deafening to her ears. She watched as Justin’s face formed a surprised ‘oh’, the third syllable dying on his lips. He fell to the ground in slow motion, eyes glazed over. Behind him stood a trembling Astoria Greengrass, arm raised.

The sound of Justin’s stunned body collapsing to the floor sped time up again, and suddenly Hermione was aware of the swarm of red robes apparated into the small space. She looked to them, numb, as the sounds around her remained muffled.

“Granger!” The sound of her voice sparked something in her, prompting her to turn in attempt to locate the person who called out to her.

The room swam for a moment as her brain processed the last few minutes. All at once the sounds of the room came crashing back to her and she felt her knees buckle.

_I almost died._

_Again._

“Granger,” the voice said again, this time much closer.

She blinked, recognizing it finally. “Zabini,” she breathed.

“You’re hurt,” He said. “Let me see it.”

“Slicing hex.” She replied, grimacing. She shrugged the robes off of her shoulders to let him assess the injury.

Blaise cursed under his breath at the deep gash just visible under her shirt. “I’m going to have to cut the fabric.”

Hermione nodded, “I figured as much.”

“Can you walk? Probably shouldn’t disrobe in the middle of an active crime scene,” He asked.

Hermione nodded and pointed to the lifts. “If we shut one off we can use that as a makeshift medical room.”

Blaise nodded at her recommendation and waved off the two Aurors who made their way over to offer help. “Someone get over to Ms. Greengrass, I think she may feint.” He ordered.

The two Aurors nodded and headed over to the young witch, gently guiding her over to a chair.

Hermione entered the lift, grimacing again as the movement shifted her injured shoulder. Blaise quickly hit the ‘stop service’ button, and used his wand to cut the back of her shirt half way down the back. Gently he pealed the thin fabric from her wound, apologizing as he went.

Hermione bit the inside of her mouth to prevent the cry from escaping. She closed her eyes tight, hoping that he could heal the shoulder quickly.

Blaise took a quick breath and set out to clean the wound before casting a rudimentary healing spell. He watched the relief wash over her as the skin began to stitch itself back together.

“It was deep so you’re going to be sore. Take it easy, yeah?” Blaise said once he was done.

“I’m not sure I know what taking it easy even means.” Hermione responded as she slowly pulled her robes back on.

“Well, for one I’d like you to use a sling but we both know how that’s going to go.”

There was a crack that sounded from the center of the lobby, pulling their attention away from the makeshift medical room. Harry, Tonks, and Davies appeared in the middle of the chaos, immediately to be greeted by the lead of the tactical team for a quick debrief. Hermione pushed past Blaise and made her way to the group.

Behind her she heard her partner sigh and fall in step. She resisted the urge to giggle, knowing he was cross about her dodging the sling. Harry caught her eye and rushed to meet her. She waved him off, “I’m fine Harry.”

“Patched her up myself,” Blaise said behind her.

“Somehow that still isn’t all that reassuring,” Harry replied with a smirk.

“What happened here Granger?” Davies asked her as he strode up behind Harry. Tonks nodded to her from behind the larger man and pointed towards Astoria before she made her way over to the young blonde.

Hermione glanced at Blaise and Harry before meeting her superior’s eyes. “I came onsite for a quick consult about our mystery poison.”

The Deputy Head nodded his head, relaxing his stance slightly.

“We’d just finished out talk on what it could be when Blaise called me on my watch to check in and ask about if Draco had any leads on finding the employer of the suspect. Draco confirmed he worked here but was on supposed to be in France at a conference to renew licensing for St. Mungo’s, but we were cut short when Finch-Fletchy showed up.”

“How’d he get into the room?”

“I had Malfoy let him in. He was threatening to kill Astoria if he didn’t. He came in wand brandished, so I distracted him long enough to portkey out with Draco.” Hermione replied.

“You call that a distraction?” The pointed voice of Draco Malfoy said behind her. She turned quickly, eyes ablaze.

“I told you not to leave until I sent Zabini!”

“And I counted to ten like a good dog and apparated back to _my_ office.”

“You mean _my_ crime scene,” Davies cut in. “I’ll get the rest of your story in your action report Granger. You should head back to the office and get that shoulder looked at properly by the medical staff.”

Hermione nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“Potter, go to Tonks and start getting statements. Malfoy, I’ll like a word with you in your office if you don’t mind.”

“What’s left of it,” Draco muttered bitterly as he nodded to the man in charge. He headed towards the door that led into his office, the Deputy Head in tow.

“Malfoy,” Hermione called out. “Be sure to give Astoria a promotion after all this.”

She heard the grunt and could only imagine the cross look on his face. Harry gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and slipped away to find Tonks. Turning, she caught Blaise’s eye and shook her head.

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll proof the report and decide that for myself,” Blaise replied, mouth turning into a small smile.

“As if I’d expect any different,” She replied with an eye roll.

-.-.-

Cho Chang sat in the tiny conference room that had been converted into the main hub of the serial murder investigation, drumming her fingers lightly on the pad of parchment she’d brought in. The last week had been completely chaotic, even by Ministry standards.

The events of the last two days took the medal though.

Covertly she’d been tailing the Head of the DMLE for the last six months, hiding in the shadows and following his every move within the Ministry. The Minister had assigned her the task the night of the Rosier Raid, confiding that he believed Robards had some involvement from the jump.

_“He sat on this case for nearly a decade and made zero progress, where my two green-gilled recruits cracked it in a month. Something isn’t adding up.”_

Cho had agreed with him then, and as time moved on and she gathered more evidence, she was sure the man was involved.

Last night however, when she followed Robards movements on the ministry map, she was surprised to see him meeting Theodore Nott near the floo entrance. Nott, she knew had been in to attend the probation hearing for his father, ensuring that the wards around familial home had been updated to key in the assigned Auror guards. However that meeting would have ended in the late afternoon, and yet the two convened at nearly 19:00 that evening.

Quickly she’d slipped into the small passage that led from the Minister’s suite to the floo entrance, hovering near the end and using an Extendible Ear she’d picked up from the Weasley Twin’s shop to listen in. Quietly she tossed the disillusioned ear through the passage’s exit, listening as Nott promised the last of the payments for safely replacing the book found at Rosier Manor with a fake.

For the first time in her short time as the liaison to the Minister, she found herself pulling an all-night shift at the Ministry, furiously finishing her report to present to him that morning while also sorting through the evidence locker to find the swapped-out book. Sure enough she had discovered the book that had been logged was swapped with a transfigured boot.

She’d stood at his door as he arrived promptly at 06:00 as usual and handed off the report and the boot, telling him it was urgent.

She was exhausted having not slept in nearly two days, but she could see the end of the tunnel drawing closer and soon shed be free to crash in her bed and sleep for an entire week (or at the very least a solid eight hours).

As of thirty minutes ago the Minister had stormed into Robards’ office with two senior Aurors in tow. News of the Head of the DMLE’s arrest would soon make its way throughout the Ministry, and she was glad to have finally put that task to rest.

With what little time she wasn’t spent on Robards she’d spent coordinating with the Romanian Ministry about the Reserve. The Minister’s wish to investigate the issue proved to be a joint effort by the two Ministries that quickly turned into a partnership towards rebuilding. Minister Shacklebolt had immediately offered their services in a show of good faith to their ally.

Cho had been asked to gather a small team to help with the wards and initial rebuild effort. Her immediate thought had fallen to Charlie Weasley, who had a history on the Reserve and an incredible knowledge of the wards and runes used. She’d sent a letter to him and his brother, requesting their assistance, before making her way up to the small conference room.

She heard them before she saw them, their voices carrying down the hall. Cho stood, lacing her hands together in front of her, waiting for them to appear in the door. She greeted them as they entered, gesturing to the seats across from her.

“Afternoon Cho,” Hermione said brightly. “I believe we have the man in custody responsible for the Reserve sabotage.”

Cho’s face lit up at the unexpected declaration.

“Er, don’t get ahead of yourself Hermione.” Blaise remarked, sinking into the chair.

“My theory is quite solid,” Hermione said challenging him.

“And it’s just that a theory—”

“That makes perfect sense. He sabotaged the Reserve to intercept the replenishment stock Malfoy was ordering. That’s why he knew Malfoy was lying when he said they didn’t have any—the shipment arrived that morning!”

Blaise was silent, knowing that the theory did make sense, but without a confession it wasn’t anything solid to go on. Hermione took his silence as her victory, shooting him a smug look.

Cho smiled at the interaction. “That’s excellent news Hermione! I hope it pans out—the Romanians are eager to move forward from the incident at the Reserve.”

“How are things out there?” Blaise asked, trying to steer the topic away from the arrest of Justin Finch-Fletchy.

“Not well I’m afraid,” Cho said sadly. “The Romanian Auror team had secured the perimeter prior to our team arriving. They’ve got it as fortified as they can and the survivors of the attack have set up camp outside the boundaries of the Reserve. The Minister asked me to form a team to aid in resetting the wards. I was hoping you two would join me.”

“Absolutely,” Blaise responded without hesitation. Hermione glanced at her partner, surprised at the eagerness.

“I’d love to help,” She responded slowly.

“Wonderful!” Cho exclaimed. “Meet at my desk Monday morning, our portkey will leave at 09:00. We can expect to spend at least three days out there, but I would err on the side of a week, just in case.”

Cho gathered her parchment pad and moved towards the door. She paused briefly before exiting to look over her shoulder.

“Before I forget, there will be some major changes in the coming days. Keep an eye out for the memo.” She said with a smile and a wink. Her eyes lingered at the table for a brief second before she vanished from the door frame.

Hermione followed the other woman’s eyes to find a tiny scrap of paper left on the table. Blaise plucked it up before she could reach it, and read it aloud in a low voice.

“Robards has been arrested in connection with the Rosier raid. Davies to expect promotion, Tonks in talks for Deputy.”

Hermione felt her jaw drop at his words. Blaise blinked and read the parchment over again and glanced up at his partner.

“I’m placing a taboo on that fucking name.”

-.-.-

Molly Weasley entered into the kitchen of her home fresh from rounding up the chickens for the night. The evening sky had slowly begun to fade into black and a serene calmness settled into the little valley that she called home.

The chill of the spring night sent a shiver down her spine as she closed the door firmly. With a quick flick of her wand, a fire began to crackle in the fireplace. The radiating warmth was instant. Molly felt herself lingering by the fire for a few extra moments before continuing on to prepare an evening nightcap.

Though she wasn’t much of a drinker she did on occasion like a nice glass of elf made wine to calm her nerves. The end of the war brought a terrible anxiety, and a feeling of loneliness that echoed in her mind. Losing her husband had been soul crushing; she was entirely sure he was her soul mate and to lose that connection was a grief she’d never quite get over. She’d spent over half her life with that man and they’d created a beautiful life together. In one quick instant she was suddenly left with half her life missing.

Losing her son on top of it nearly pushed her to the brink. Her one mission in life had been to protect her children at all costs, to keep them fed and happy, and to see to it that they lived long, happy lives. The strife they had with Percy wore on her over the years, and it was maddening that they never properly got to deal with it.

The early days after the war, and even the weeks after the funerals, she’d been in a daze. Wondering aimlessly through the house, looking for a purpose. Charlie had come home for the final fight and barely left her side, and she’d never been so glad to have her little dragon child near. He was her rock, so much like his father that it hurt her heart.

Settling into the den with her glass of wine, Molly sipped the dark red liquid, recalling her reaction to Charlie telling her he was moving home to publish a series of texts on magical creatures. She’d been elated, and for the first time since the war had ended she’d felt true happiness.

As the years progressed the pain became more numbing than crushing, and now that her family continued to grow despite all the pain and loss, Molly finally felt that things were on the mend. There were still nights when she dreaded going up the stairs to her bedroom alone, forever reminded of the man she’d lost. On those nights she could practically feel Arthur’s presence—a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, reminding her it would all shake out in the end.

A rushing sounded, signaling the arrival of someone through the floo.

“Mrs. Weasley?” A feminine voice called out.

Molly stood from her chair and placed the glass on the coffee table to greet her guest. “Hermione, dear! What a surprise!” She said as she entered the kitchen, catching the younger woman in a tight hug.

“I’ve missed you around for Sunday dinner you know,” The Weasley matron said, ushering the young woman into a chair.

Hermione laughed, “I’ve missed them too you know. It’s about the only time I get any decent sustenance. But I think I won’t be pulling weekends for a while.”

Molly turned to her in surprise, “Oh?”

“You’ll see it in the paper in the morning but Robards’ been sacked.”

Mrs. Weasley let out a satisfied ‘hmph’ and set out to put the kettle to boil.

Hermione gave her a grateful look, “I popped in because I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”

“Ask away dear,” Molly responded lightly as she poured the steaming water from the now boiling kettle.

“I need your help getting the blood out of these robes,” Hermione said, accepting the steaming cup of tea. She blew on it gently before taking a sip, relishing the feeling of the burning liquid as it slid down her throat.

“And, if you don’t mind,” She continued, “Can you take a look at my shoulder? Blaise did the best he could, but I know you’re the best when it comes to healing.”

“If Fred and George are anything to go by, I dare say I’m a bit of an expert.” Molly replied with a smile. “Off with the robe—I’ll run it up to the laundry and get it soaking with my stain remover.”

Hermione shrugged the robe off, hissing in pain at the sudden movement of her shoulder. Mrs. Weasley clicked her tongue at the sight of her half-cut shirt, still stained with blood. The skin around where she’d been hit with the slicing hex was red and scabbed over, showing the early stages of scaring.

Molly drew her wand and summoned her first aid kit before sending the robes up the stairs. Hermione watched the red cloth fold into itself until the spot where the blood stain remained on top. Beside her Mrs. Weasley dug out a small, dark jar, and began to rub a cool salve into her throbbing skin.

Hermione jumped slightly, unprepared for the cool substance. There was an immediate sense of relief that washed over her shoulder as the throbbing subsided.

“Blaise did a fine job, but I’m afraid it will still scar. That salve should help the healing and provide a bit of pain relief.” Mrs. Weasley said as she screwed the lid back on the jar. “Now, let me go get that stain remover on your robes and I’ll bring you down a jumper to change into.”

Hermione thanked her and gently rubbed her shoulder.

Mrs. Weasley made quick work of soaking the robes in her special blend of cleaning potions. She glanced at the folded pile of clothing that belonged to her second eldest son and grabbed a faded crimson jumper. She’d knitted that during his last year at Hogwarts, having made sure to include a tiny snitch just above the ‘C’ to celebrate him being named as the Gryffindor team captain.

She smiled at the memory and made her way down the stairs with the jumper. She handed it to Hermione who quickly slipped out of her torn shirt and into the warm crimson fabric.

Hermione glanced at the shirt once it was on, “Is this Charlie’s?”

Molly nodded, “Yes. I figured you’d want something warm.”

“Won’t he be wanting this?”

The older woman shrugged, though there was a mischievous glint in her eye. “Perhaps if he’d have picked up his laundry by now he wouldn’t have to worry about his mum handing out his clothes.”

Hermione giggled into her teacup. The distinct crack of apparation sounded from outside, causing her to giggle harder.

“Speak of the devil,” She mused. Mrs. Weasley returned her laughter and summoned her forgotten wine glass from the living room.

“My children do have impeccable timing,” Mrs. Weasley admitted as the door opened.

Charlie slipped in to the house, greeted by two giggling females. As he shrugged off the worn leather jacket he glanced at the table and was met with the most peculiar sight.

His mum on one end, glass of wine in hand, face lit with laughter. Hermione on the other, sat in what appeared to be his favorite sweater, burying her smiling face behind a steaming teacup.

A strange sensation blossomed in his stomach at the sight, but Charlie quickly bit down on it. Suddenly he was reminded of his brother’s antics yesterday at the pub and in an instant it all began to click into place.

_Oh fuck_ , he thought. 


	8. 08

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -the mention of thoughts of suicide are in this chapter in and after the flashback-

Bill Weasley couldn’t stop laughing at the note his younger brother had sent him that morning.

_Bill,_

_You are a right bastard._

_I’m fucked, aren’t I._

_I hate you._

_What the fuck am I going to do?_

_\- Charlie_

He was reminded of the chat the two had had in the pub Thursday afternoon, when things had begun to click together in his own mind.

The young witch had integrated into their family over a decade ago, and though he hadn’t really grown to know her beyond Ron’s letters and Ginny’s tales of friendship until late into the war, Bill had found himself feeling an odd attachment to her. Not in the romantic sense, but there was a strong urge to protect her as he would any of his siblings. He supposed it was the wolf side in him tapping into that desire to protect his ‘pack’ of sorts. He’d always been protective of his family, and throughout the war both Harry and Hermione had begun to fit that definition.

The distant memory of the elf apparating into his and Fleur’s garden, a limp Hermione in a heap, pulled at his heart for a moment, just as it had yesterday when he’d recounted the events to his brother.

Bill was sure it was that turning point when he’d regarded the woman as a sister and not just a family friend. The sacrifices she’d made for the war and for his family were evident in that single event. From then on he’d watched her closely, understanding her pain and fears. She’d come to him infrequently when the pain was too much to bear. He’d taught her his methods of dealing with the residuals, leaning into occlumency as an inspiration.

What he hadn’t expected was how well Hermione would take to building up her mental walls. She’d completely shut away everything from the war and thrown herself into her job as an Auror with such fervor that he was surprised she hadn’t burn out by now.

 _Perhaps in part due to Charlie’s support,_ he mused. Though he’d never have given a thought to what their bond would evolve to, he couldn’t say he didn’t approve. They were rather alike, even if they didn’t yet see it themselves.

And it was rather cute how smitten his baby brother was at the ripe age of thirty.

Which why the whole scenario had been so amusing to him, when he realized the love sick look on his brother’s face was because of Hermione before Charlie had made the connection himself. What he would give to know what had transpired in day since they’d parted ways at _The Pitch_ that made Charlie come to the realization himself.

He reread the note once more while shaking his head. Beside him Fleur appeared, a young Victoire on her hip. Bill handed her the note and took his daughter in a trade, listening to Fleur chuckle as her eyes moved across the page.

“It ‘eez about time,” She said decidedly before bending down to give her husband a kiss. “’ow are all you Weasley men so oblivious?”

“I’d like to think I don’t fit that statement.”

The pointed look his wife gave him told him otherwise, but he gave her a lopsided grin none-the-less. Fleur bid him and Victoire before heading out to the apparation point to head to work where she was scheduled for a half-day of overtime. With one last pass over the note, he sent it up to the office he shared with Fleur with a flick of his wand, laughter ringing out once again.

Victoire was giggling at her fathers’ laughter, blue eyes gleaming. Bill set her on the floor to stand and asked the young girl if she was ready to head to his mothers’ house for the morning, to which he was greeted with an enthusiastic yes.

-.-.-

It was the first Saturday she’d had free in weeks and she’d intended on spending it being productive. Instead she found herself pacing about her flat, jumping at every small noise and glancing at every shadow.

As cases went, the last one was only slightly abnormal in how it wrapped up. She was used to the dueling and the chase. It wasn’t uncommon for the suspects to fight back, and secretly she craved the adrenaline rush that came with it. Adrenaline took over her senses, and in those fleeting moments her mind would shut off and simply react. It was freeing.

What she didn’t crave was the ebb of anxiety that came with the adrenaline, plucking at her nerves for days after the chase. The rational side of her mind remined her that it was normal to feel anxious after such a taxing event, but with the anxiety came a fringe of fear grazing at the furthest crevice of her mind, gently pulling down the walls she’d so carefully put up.

She found herself replaying the scene in her mind, over and over again.

The brilliant hue of the slicing hex.

The familiar purple hex, grazing her as she rolled away.

The blood stain, nearly black as it spread across her crimson robes and down her arm.

The hollow throbbing in her ribs.

The slow movement of Justin’s mouth as he made to case the killing curse.

She’d been syllables from death.

No matter how many times she blinked away the image of Justin, he’d reappear just outside her field of vision, taunting her. If she closed her eyes she could almost hear his heavy panting.

She shook her hands, willing the pent-up energy to leave her body. They felt clammy and unsteady.

She’d tried to ease her mind with a book, but she couldn’t seem to absorb any of the words. Then she set out to tidy the place, and rearranged the furniture in her flat. Having such a small space and limited amount of furniture, this only kept her mind busy for a few short hours.

She’d popped down to the pub for a drink in the middle of the afternoon, but the noise of the Alley was grating on her nerves. There were too many people around, too many voices talking all at once until all she heard was a dull rumble. She kept feeling his presence at every turn, the unease gnawing away at her.

Now she made another circuit through the den and into the small kitchen, picking up her glass of amber liquid as she went. She clutched it between her hands, moving swiftly in front of her fire place and looping around the rearranged sofa.

There was a twinge in her stomach, causing her to whip around quickly. Her wand was extended and the glass shattering on the floor. In the quiet flat she could hear her erratic breathing in time with the deafening pulse in her ears.

The entry into her kitchen was empty, just as it had been an hour ago when this had happened for the second time.

Hermione closed her eyes, lowing her wand, and groaned loudly.

 _I have to get out of here_ , she thought as she knelt to repair the glass and siphon the remainder of the whiskey from her carpet. With a flick of her wand she sent the empty glass floating back into the kitchen, leaving her to sit back on her heels, deep in thought.

She’d grown tired of days like this—the days where she was constantly on edge, waiting for the Death Eaters to pop out of every crevice. Or like today, when instead of Death Eater’s it was the manic suspect responsible for so many deaths across the wizarding world.

_I just want to be normal again._

Shaking her head at the thought Hermione stood from her floor and headed to the entrance to her flat. She shrugged on her jacket before doubling back to her bedroom to grab the carefully folded knit jumper from the foot of her bed. The fabric felt soft in her hands, spreading warmth through her body. She felt a shiver roll down her spine at the feeling, wishing she could just pretend it was hers for good.

She strode through her flat, rushing to escape the confining walls. The moment she’d locked the door she turned on her heel and disappeared with a soft pop.

She reappeared outside a small wooden gate and smiled up at the tall log cabin. Hermione had fallen in love with the secluded home, having mentioned it to Charlie every chance she could. It was nestled deep in the woods a good few kilometers east of the Burrow, with only a small winding dirt path connecting it to the main road. The cobbled path that led to the front door of the cabin was covered in a brilliant green as the moss had slowly begun to take over in the spring months.

The lights were on, much to her relief. Though they had a mutual understanding that either’s home was open at any time, she always felt guilty for coming unannounced. 

Gently she knocked her knuckles on the door before she entered the cabin. She was greeted to the sight of a shirtless Charlie hunched over his kitchen table with parchment strewn around him. The cabin had one large room that doubled as the main living area and kitchen, and from her vantage she had a perfect view of the older Weasley’s battle scars. It was almost artistic how they wove in-between all the tattoos that dotted his torso and back. She could see the most prominent scar, a long, jagged line that began just under his clavicle, stretching across his stomach and disappearing into his trousers.

A stray blush creeped into her cheeks as she caught herself looking so intently at him. Blinking, she shut the door and giggled as the man in the kitchen looked up to greet her. His face was covered in ink, as were his hands, and as she grew near she noticed the pieces of parchment all had blotches of the watery black liquid.

“What on Earth?” She asked, setting the jumper on the back of his couch.

Charlie gave her a sheepish grin, “Exploding ink well. Fucking Twins.”

Hermione laughed loudly, feeling the ebb of anxiety from her flat slowly beginning to recede. “Let me help,” She said taking a spot across from him to begin siphoning the ink from the pages.

She marveled at how easily the ink was fading from the page, sparking a memory in the back of her mind. In her mind’s eye she saw herself yelling at the Twins after the ink well had exploded all over her OWL notes, growing more aggravated as they fell into a fit of laughter, tears in their eyes. Then, without explanation the ink was simply gone.

_“Vanishing ink, love!” Fred said._

_“You didn’t think we were that big of arses, did you?” George responded, wiping a tear from his eye._

She recalled shoving the both of them before stomping up to the dorms. Later she would laugh about it, but in the moment she was ready to toss them both from the tower.

“Charlie, how long’s it been since the well exploded?” Hermione asked, putting her wand back in her pocket.

Charlie glanced at her before checking his watch, “I don’t know. Maybe a half hour? Probably more to be honest, I spent a few minutes raging around the room before I started cleaning it up.”

A smile tugged on her lips, imagining the grown man’s tantrum. “It’s disappearing ink. It’ll be gone soon, unless they’ve changed the formula since 1996.”

True to her word the ink had already begun to fade in some of the pieces of parchment. Charlie let out a sigh of relief, “I’ll kill them.”

“I almost tossed them from the tower, when they did it to me.“ Hermione admitted.

“Yeah?”

“Exploded right on my OWL notes. If they hadn’t been falling all over one another laughing, I honestly could have pitched them.” She found herself laughing at the memory again.

“They’re right pricks, aren’t they?” Charlie remarked, a grin on his face. He grabbed at the wadded shirt that he’d tossed on the ground, inspecting it for remnants of ink.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, remembering the borrowed jumper she’d brought back. “I brought back the jumper your mum gave me last night.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows as he moved to tug his shirt back on. “You didn’t have to do that Hermione, it’s a bit snug anymore anyway.”

“Oh really?” Hermione asked skeptically. “Are we talking about the same jumper you wear constantly?”

She swore she saw him blush for a moment before he ducked his head, holding up a hand. “Fair point, just trying to be polite about it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “How gentlemanly of you.” She reached back and plucked the jumper from the couch and tossed it to him.

Charlie caught it with ease and pulled it on over his shirt.

“Looking rather tight, isn’t it?” Hermione said sarcastically.

Charlie gave her a devilish smile and flexed his biceps. “I’m glad you’d noticed.”

“You’re horrible!” she said with a giggle. 

They fell into an easy silence then. Charlie kept his eyes trained on the young witch, trying desperately to fight the pull of emotions that plucked at him. Hermione returned his gaze, completely unreadable.

Across the room Hermione was lost in thought as the silence fell over them. She couldn’t explain it, but the unease she’d been battling all day had finally receded, and for the first time in months she felt at peace. She marveled at how uncanny it was, the affect this cabin and its owner had on her. She felt safe, secure even—as if the outside world couldn’t reach her inside the wooden walls.

Charlie cleared his throat after a long moment, pulling her from her thoughts. She shot him an apologetic look that he promptly waved off.

“Want to see the gift I got mum? It’s just through the back,” He said, gesturing over his shoulder to the door that led to a small mudroom. Quietly he opened the door and motioned for her to peer inside.

Curiously Hermione crossed the kitchen and leant into the room, eyes falling on the small cage with a sleeping puppy inside. She barely contained a squeal at the sight of the tiny brown canine. Over her shoulder she felt Charlie stifle a chuckle.

The small Crup puppy let out a tiny bark in its sleep, two tails thumping against the bed of sheets it had burrowed in.

Hermione lent back into the kitchen, eyes dancing. “What’s its name?”

“Ophelia,” Charlie responded as she closed the door softly.

“It’s beautiful!” She gushed, wishing she could sit in the room with the small animal.

“I know,” Charlie said with a smirk. “Mum seemed receptive to the idea of a pet, even mentioned she missed having that horse you called a cat running around.”

“Cooks was not a horse!” Hermione replied, making a face at him and moving towards the couch. “He was just a little on the larger side.”

“Part-kneazle,” Charlie clarified. “Who hated men.”

“Just Ron, actually.” Hermione sunk into the couch, pulling her legs under her.

“And the Twins—which they deserved—and me, for whatever reason.” Charlie said, following her. He dropped into the cushion beside her, propping his legs up on the coffee table. “Honestly the only bloke he didn’t hate was Bill and I think it’s because of the wolf thing.”

Hermione let out a ‘hmph’ but didn’t argue, knowing that he had a point.

“So, what do I owe this visit for?” Charlie asked easily, propping one arm up on the back of the couch.

“Company, mostly. I’ve missed our talks.” Hermione answered honestly. “It’s been a right day.”

“Oh?” Charlie asked, eyes searching her. “Left over from the other day?”

Hermione was silent for a moment, lost in her mind once again. Charlie pulled her into a side embrace and she leant her head against his shoulder.

They stayed like this for a few minutes, Charlie letting her process her own thoughts while rubbing circles into her arm. When she finally spoke, it was barely a whisper.

“When will I be alright again?”

Charlie felt his heart break at the statement, having had the same thought about himself many times over. He leaned his head against hers, “That’s the million-galleon question, isn’t it?”

“I—I just, I’m tired of it all.” As she spoke the tears she’d tried so hard to keep back had begun to fall from her eyes. “I’m tired of jumping at the shadows, tired of looking over my shoulder.”

Charlie made a noise of understanding, “Tired of the fear? The random bouts of panic that root you to the floor?”

She nodded into his shoulder, “Exactly.”

“I don’t know that it ever goes away, I think we just get better at coping with our new lives. Or at the very least realizing when a panic attack is coming.”

Her sigh against his jumper sent chills down his arms, and he was immediately grateful she couldn’t feel his body’s response to it.

“I almost died,” She said into the knitted fabric.

This time her breath stopped his heart.

His arm tensed around her shoulder, fingers paused. She’d uttered it so quietly, so nonchalant as if it were an everyday event. For a moment there was silence, and he wondered if she’d even spoke at all.

“Three syllables.” She muttered finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Three more and I’d be dead.”

“Hermione—”

“I recommended Astoria for an Order of Merlin for saving me.”

“Hermione—”

“He was so calm about it,” She continued, oblivious to Charlie’s words. “Just pointed the wand and ‘Avada—‘”.

“Hermione,” He said again, this time using his free hand to pull her face towards him.

She looked up at him, blinking through the tears. “I—”

He pulled her into a tighter embrace, letting her finally succumb to the emotions she’d locked away. Charlie understood then why she’d shown up. It wasn’t just the usual demons from the war knocking at her door, but rather a new demon taking up residence. He felt so helpless then, knowing there wasn’t anything he could say to take away the terror of being half a curse away from death.

They stayed like that for a long time before her tears dried up. She’d felt free then—free of the weight that had been pressing down on her for so many months. It was as if she could finally breathe again, could finally just exist without the fear of who was watching.

“Thank you,” She said quietly against his chest.

“For?”

“Being you. Letting me here, keeping me sane. I don’t know what it is about this place, but the second I enter that gate it’s like I’m in another world where fear and anxieties don’t exist.” Hermione said. 

“Could be the wards,” Charlie mused lightly, eliciting an appreciative laugh from Hermione. “Besides after the last time I crashed at your place completely pissed from a drinking game with Fred, I owe you one.”

She looked up at him curiously, “You don’t remember a thing from that night, do you?”

“Love I was six shots of firewhiskey and half a bottle of vodka gone when I left the bar. I don’t really remember anything after the last shot.”

-.-.-

_Six Months ago_

_The Rosier Raid would go down in history as the single most horrific thing she’d seen that didn’t directly involve Voldemort. She hadn’t slept in days, her mind to wound from the case to properly put up her occlumency walls to ward off the post-war insomnia._

_What had appeared to begin as unrelated series of kidnappings had resulted in a slavery ring amongst the most high-profile pureblood families. The conditions those poor women were left in haunted her at every waking moment._

_How could Robards sit on the case this long? How many had died because of him? How many had lost their lives in the short month it was on her and Blaise’s desks?_

_She knew they’d cracked it as fast as they possibly could, but as she and the team of Aurors raiding the Manor crept down the concealed staircase into what Harry had dubbed one of the Seven Circles of Hell, she couldn’t help but feel as if she hadn’t done enough to help the poor women._

_She still saw their faces, too numb to react to being saved from their hell. Some even begging for death._

_It, like many things from her job and life after the war, had worn on her to the point of breaking._

_So, at two in the morning on the first Saturday since her debrief, Hermione found herself on her third glass of wine while she sat in the dark on the floor of her den feeling utterly defeated._

_There was a commotion at her door before a loud knock sounded. Confused, she grabbed her wand and slowly inched towards the door. Another knock sounded as she peered through the hole in the door. The broad shoulders of Charlie Weasley were leant against the frame, one hand against the door to knock again._

_Quietly she cast the charm to illuminate the room before she carefully opened the door, making sure to extend an arm towards him to keep him from falling forward on her. She could smell the alcohol on him the second the door had opened. Cracking a grin, “Rowdy night?”_

_She led him into the flat and pointed him towards the den, eventually depositing him on the couch while he laughed. “Fred bet me I couldn’t out drink him.”_

_“Oh?” Hermione asked, one eyebrow raised._

_Charlie nodded, sinking further into the couch. “Bloody idiot…beat him.”_

_“What’d you win?” Hermione asked, sliding onto the couch beside him._

_“Bragging rights, I think…hard to tell. Maybe a tattoo…” His words trailed off for a moment. “Sorry I’m sloshed, can’t remember how to apparate home.”_

_Hermione giggled, “How’d you end up here then?”_

_Charlie looked at her, confusion evident on his face. “How did I end up here?” He repeated, looking at her in wonder._

_Finally he shrugged and let his head fall back against the couch. He put one arm on the back of the couch, letting Hermione settle in to her usual spot. She leant her head against his chest, listening to the quiet thump of his heartbeat._

_“Hermione?” He asked after a long silence. “Can I ask you a question?”_

_“Always,” She said, glancing up at him._

_Charlie kept his face towards the ceiling, but she could tell he was deep in thought._

_“You think I’ll ever stop being fucked?”_

_“I’m sorry?”_

_“I’m just—I’m a mess right? A thirty-year-old bloke terrified of commitment and can barely make it in public for more than an hour before I have a panic attack unless I’m properly sloshed.” He pressed on; voice hard and angry._

_“Charlie—”_

_“I’m rubbish as a friend, a terrible brother, and a failure of a son. I couldn’t save them, I know that. But I should have. And I then like a coward I ran and hid.”_

_Hermione’s ears drummed loudly as her pulse quickened, wanting desperately to knock some sense into the drunken man. As if in a trance, he pressed on, unaware of the affect his words were having on her._

_“I abandoned my family and never thought to look back, not even with war on our door. It should be me in the grave instead of my dad.”_

_“You aren’t a coward!” Hermione said defiantly, finally pulling back from him. Her eyes were blazing at his words as so many things ran through her mind, so many things she wanted to refute._

_Tears pricked at her eyes at his mention of his father._

_The sudden movement surprised him. Charlie turned his head towards the witch, mouth open to argue. She almost didn’t recognize him—the icy blue eyes burning in an anger that gripped her completely. It was a look she hadn’t seen since that day behind the Burrow almost six years ago._

_“No! You listen to me Charles Weasley!” Hermione exclaimed, mind racing. “You are one of the best damn friends I have, the best damn son, and the best damn brother. You’re the only one who knows about how fucked I’ve been since the war. You’re the only one besides Blaise that can keep me going when things get too overwhelming. You’ve kept your family together through one of the most trying times and you certainly are. Not. A. Coward!” She poked his shoulder, emphasizing the last four words._

_Charlie caught her finger on the last jab, “Don’t kid yourself Hermione.” It was more of a plea than a statement, and Hermione nearly fell into tears at how broken Charlie looked._

_“Charlie,_ _you’re half the reason I’m still here breathing_ _.”_ _Hermione whispered. The revelation rolled off her tongue before she could process it. Her hand flew to her mouth, mortified._

_Despite the drunken state, her admission seemed to resonate in Charlie’s mind. He pulled her hand from her mouth and tugged her into a crushing hug._

-.-.-

The memory clenched at her heart, but she was grateful that Charlie had been too far gone to recall it. She knew that without the aid of three glasses of wine and the mental strain from the Rosier Raid, she’d never have admitted to one of her darkest secrets.

It was one of her worst memories, one where she’d found herself knelt on her knees in the middle of the orchard so consumed by her own grief and guilt over her parents and not being able to save Percy that she’d found herself so painfully close to going over the edge. The pain was crushing, debilitating even. She couldn’t escape the images of the war as they played at all hours of the day and waking her from fitful slumber each night.

All over again, as if watching a movie of her life on repeat, she watched Percy disappearing under the rubble as her shield failed to keep him safe.

She’d felt Bellatrix standing over her, carving into her arm as she twitched from the cruciatus curse.

The breath from Fenrir Greyback was forever present on the nape of her neck.

Every time she closed her eyes she could feel his gaze on her, leering and excitedly planning out how he was going to kill her.

She felt the whispers in her mind, reminding her of every small move she’d made that could have made a difference. A quarter turn more and maybe the shield would have been more powerful. Or perhaps attempting to slow the falling wall to buy them more time to escape. A different memory charm. Listening to Harry sooner about going to Hogwarts. Being a better version of Bellatrix and preventing them from nearly being caught again.

She’d grown so numb, so unbearably broken that at times she couldn’t breathe.

Her chest had hurt and her heart was heavy as she fumbled through each day, drowning from her mental assault. It spiraled on and on until she’d finally snapped that day in the orchard. Screaming into the earth, pleading with whatever Gods were listening to make it stop, to make it all end.

The seeds of doubt that had blossomed in the courtyard where Tom Riddle’s body had fallen had finally bloomed into full blown self-hate, and in that moment, she wondered if it was worth it. Surviving the war only to relive it every single day. She’d wondered just how easy it would have been to slip away, to join the other side.

Would there be peace?

She’d never know, because Fred had found her in the orchard, hands wrapped around herself, forehead against the soft earth as she screamed. He’d limped over to her, falling to the ground beside her to pull her into an embrace.

He’d whispered to her for what felt like hours, begging her to understand that it wasn’t her fault. He was the catalyst that pulled her back from the brink, speaking clarity into her shattered mind. They must have spent hours there before he’d gotten her back to the Burrow and up to Ginny’s room. His words ran through her mind on repeat, drowning out the sounds of the war.

She’d be forever indebted to Fred and the promise he’d made her make—a promise to learn to live again, to stop blaming herself for Percy’s death.

That promise felt like a small weight lifting from her shoulders, but the pain kept gripping on.

In their usual routine, Charlie had joined her that night to tell her of his plans to come home. Their familiar candor had reminded Hermione that she wasn’t the only one running from her past. The events from the orchard seemed like a distant memory then, and ever so slowly she’d began to heal.

It was those late-night meetings that kept the small bit of sanity she had left.

Where Fred had pulled her back, Charlie had saved her.

“Where’d I lose you to?” Charlie whispered into her ear, pulling her back from her thoughts.

“A bad place. A really bad and fucked up place.” She said through her tears, feeling ashamed of where she’d been all those years ago.

-.-.-

When Hermione woke the first thing that she noticed was how comfortable the blanket she’d curled up in was. The second thing she noticed was the faint smell of leather and pine that grew stronger the further she buried her head into the pillow.

She blinked, allowing her eyes to acclimate to the sun streaming through the window. As the room came into focus around her, she realized she wasn’t in her flat. Curious, she lifted her head and took in the state of the bed she was in. The blankets had been tangled, wrapping around her legs and two of the pillows had ended up on the floor beside the bed.

She frowned, pushing herself up from her stomach, and climbed out of the bed. The events from last night came crashing back to her once she realized she was in Charlie’s loft bedroom at his cabin. There was a quick moment of panic at the state of the room, but it quickly died when she peered over the banister and saw his sleeping form draped across the couch.

Then in a curious turn of events Hermione swore she felt almost disappointed to have woken alone in the bed. She pushed aside that particular feeling and shook her head, not wanting to go down that line of thought this early in the morning.

Quietly she slipped down the stairs from the loft and made her way into the kitchen to start breakfast. Pointing her wand at the kettle she set it to boil, opting to start with her usual cup of tea. She made quick work of frying up eggs, bacon, and sausage – the breakfast of choice of any of the Weasley children.

As she maneuvered around the kitchen her mind began to wonder again, sorting through the last twenty-four hours. As much as she didn’t want to deal with the odd bought of disappointment from when she woke, she couldn’t help but notice how all her thoughts made their way back to the handsome, slumbering red-head softly snoring on the couch behind her.

_Handsome?_

The thought lingered in her mind as she recalled the shirtless scene she’d wondered in on.

_Definitely handsome._

Behind her she heard Charlie begin to stir, no doubt responding to the smell of fried bacon. With a wave of her wand she sent the plate of eggs to the table while she grabbed the other two. Charlie stumbled into a standing position, stretching his back. Hermione watched him closely, breath catching for a moment. As he ran a hand through his hair, tussling the bed head, she turned back to the kettle and fought the burning on her cheeks.

“Morning,” He mumbled roughly as he shuffled into the kitchen. Unlike herself, she knew that he was far from a morning person.

“Good morning,” She replied, “You didn’t have to take the couch you know.”

“’S alright,” he mumbled back, grabbing for the glass of water she’d set by his chair. “Cushioning charm.”

“Looks like it worked wonders,” Hermione replied sarcastically, hiding her smirk behind her teacup. “Only a few cricks in your neck?”

Charlie chuckled and dropped into his chair, “Something like that. Thanks for breakfast, by the way.”

“It’s the least I could do after last night.”

The smile he returned to her was all that needed to be said about the late-night confessions. He knew she’d come to him with the rest of her thoughts when she was ready. Hermione found a content sigh escaping her lips as she watched the man across from her clumsily make his plate of food, sleep still heavy in his eyes.

She loved how easy he made it to open up—there was no expectations, no judgement. Just the two of them together, facing the traumas of war.

“You still coming to lunch at the Burrow?” He asked, stabbing two sausage links from the plate. She blinked at him, startled from her musings.

“Erm,” Hermione mumbled, unsure of her response. She’d carefully avoided the holiday over the past few years, always relying on the Auror’s needing coverage. This year she didn’t have that luxury as Davies had explicitly told her to rest after wrapping up the Finch-Fletchy case. “It’s more of a family thing… I wouldn’t want to intrude.” She knew it was flimsy and half arsed, but it was the best excuse she could come up with on the spot.

“You know damn good and well that mum will be in your flat, dragging you through the floo if you don’t.” Charlie shook his head. “And enough nonsense about it being a family thing. She considers you a—well to be honest I’ve lost count at how many children there are when you start counting wives and girlfriends, and that Potter bloke—but you get the gist.”

Hermione found herself smiling as she held up her hands in defeat, “You win.”

“Remind me to mark that in my calendar later—‘I won against Hermione Granger’. I’ll need a proper celebration.”

She flicked a bit of egg at him, lost in a fit of giggles. “Prat!”


	9. 09

One of the greatest joy’s she’d had in a long time was being able to hold the tiny Crup puppy when Charlie introduced her to his mother. Molly’s face had lit up at the sight of the tiny brown pup who was fidgeting in her arms.

Hermione let little Ophelia down to investigate the new scenery. Immediately the dog pranced over to her new owner, tails wagging happily.

“She’s already got a few basic commands down. Sit, stay, and I’ve even got her to play dead.” Charlie explained while his mother gave a few strokes to Ophelia’s head.

Ophelia stiffened at the ‘play dead’ command, flopping over ungracefully. The illusion was completely ruined by the thumping of her two tails on the wood floor.

“Well, mostly play dead,” Charlie amended.

“Charles Septimus Weasley, thank you so much!” Molly gushed as she picked up the pup.

Hermione’s eyebrows raised at the use of his full name. She turned to the man beside her, noting the blazing red ears he was sporting. It occurred to her then that in all the years she’d known him and the family she’d never once heard his full name uttered.

‘Septimus?’ she mouthed at him.

His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Charlie furiously shook his head and shot her a warning.

‘Don’t you dare!’ her mouthed back, one finger pointed at her.

Hermione felt a wicked grin spread across her lips.

‘Hermione’ he mouthed, and she could feel the warning.

Seemingly unaware of the silent exchange, Molly had set Ophelia back on the ground and asked the Crup if she’d like to explore in the garden. Hermione gave Charlie a wink before heading out after the elder Weasley.

She felt him fall into step behind her before he placed a hand on her hip, pulling her close. “Not a word.”

His whisper sent chills down her neck, and she barely repressed a shudder as her skin tingled from his breath. Glancing at him over her shoulder, she gave him the most innocent look she could muster before breaking for the garden. She took up a spot on the rock wall that separated the garden from the field leading to the orchards, watching Charlie help his mother with the commands for Ophelia.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d watched them before the rest of the family had begun to arrive. Bill, Fleur, and Victoire arrived first, the latter over the moon the moment she laid eyes on the dog in the garden. She faintly heard Bill muttering about being expected to purchase a dog thanks to his brother, causing her and Fleur to share a chuckle.

There was a soft crack that sounded behind her, prompting her to turn slightly to see who had arrived. She waved at the familiar black headed man, smirking as he grunted heavily at large box shifting in his arms. The redheaded woman beside him gave him a quick peck on the cheek before hopping onto the stone wall beside Hermione.

“What on Earth is in that box?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Cauldron set,” Ginny said simply. “And only Merlin knows why he didn’t just levitate it.”

Hermione shook her head, “Showing off most likely.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “It’s not like I don’t see his biceps every morning.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear my sister talk about her boyfriend in the morning,” Charlie said as he walked towards them to greet his sister. “As far as I’m concerned you sleep in separate rooms, in separate flats, in separate continents.”

Hermione hid a giggle behind her hand while Ginny shoved at him playfully. She pulled him into a quick hug before glancing back at the house, a mild look of concern floating across her face as she spotted the signature pony tail her eldest brother sported (though much shorter in his older age, she mused) slipping through the doorway.

Charlie raised an eyebrow and followed her line of sight. “Something bothering you?”

Ginny shook her head, “No, just confirming a hunch.”

“Yeah?”

“Bill disappeared from the garden just now, and Harry hasn’t come out yet.”

“So? They’re probably having a nice chat.” Charlie reasoned, still confused.

“Oh, they’re having a chat alright. Harry’s been all bent up about something the last couple of days and I’m pretty sure he’s cornered Bill to ask him for my hand in marriage.” Ginny’s words were so relaxed that at first Charlie hadn’t quite understood what she’d said.

Hermione barely contained the giggle when she watched the dots connect in his mind, forming a soft ‘oh’ on his lips. His eyes lit up and his lips pulled into a half smirk while Hermione opted for a strangled squeal, trying not to bring attention to their conversation.

“Finally,” She breathed, face flush with excitement.

“Gin—”

“It’s rather sweet really,” Ginny said, ignoring her older brother and best friend. “He wants to go about this the right way and I suspect you all will have the same talk today. He didn’t get to ask dad, so if I know anything about that man, he’ll want talk to you all.”

Charlie’s eyebrows arched.

“And you’d better not give him a hard time or my threat about buying the cauldron set stands.”

“Noted,” Charlie said finally, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of talking to his sister’s boyfriend about her hand in marriage. “I think I’m going to go in and head off this ‘conversation’, if it’s even happening.”

“Oh it’s happening,” Ginny said firmly. “I love that boy to death but he’s an open book when it comes to what he’s planning. He’s had the bloody ring for four years now!”

This surprised Hermione, who stole a glance at the elder Weasley sibling. Charlie wore a similar look of surprise when he asked, “You’ve seen it?!”

Ginny nodded, a mischievous smile on her lips. “He hid it in his sock drawer. Who puts away his socks? Anyway, I’m not mad he’s had it—we’ve been on the same page about getting married for years now. I know he’s been dealing with the fact that almost everyone at our wedding will be related to me since he’s all that’s left of his family. I told him we didn’t even need a ceremony, or a reception if he didn’t want.

“But that sweet man told me he’d give me a festival if I’d ask. I told him I was ready whenever he felt the time was right.” Ginny concluded, a lopsided smile on her face.

Charlie returned her smile, “What a sappy bint.”

Ginny smacked him playfully, “Sod off. Just you wait until it’s your turn Charles! Now go give my boyfriend permission to marry me.” She flicked her wrists at him as if shooing him away

“Whatever you want baby sister.” He shot her a wink and turned to leave. Hesitating a moment, he turned back. “In case I need a quick exit, either of you need a drink?”

Ginny shook her head, and Hermione politely declined.

“Are you sure Hermione? Isn’t it about time for your hourly tea fix?” Charlie asked lightly before heading towards the house.

“It’s been forty minutes,” She called after him.

“Back in twenty then!”

Her giggle was lost on him as he hopped the far stone wall of the garden. She watched in amusement as he placed one hand on the top of the wall to propel himself over it, all the while not a meter from the open gate. As his feet landed he broke into a light jog, ducking into the house in one quick motion.

Ginny watched her friend as Hermione’s eyes followed the retreating form of her older brother. She found their banter curious, though not completely out of place. Realizing Hermione had been staring at an empty doorway, she cleared her throat.

Jumping, Hermione looked to her friend as a blush crept into her cheeks. “Sorry—”

“So you have tea with my brother often?”

Hermione tilted her head, “What makes you think that?”

“He offered to make you tea and you didn’t scoff at him.” Ginny replied pointedly. “You’re rather particular about your little addiction, so…”

“He makes a good cup of tea,” Hermione said in defense of herself.

“Mmhmm,” Ginny replied with a smirk. Knowing she was hitting a wall with her old friend she decided to switch tactics. “Had any good dates lately?”

To her surprise Hermione chuckled. “No, but you’ll never guess what happened last night.”

“Oh?” Ginny replied, blinking.

“I woke up in a man’s bed this morning,” Hermione began, feeling rather bold.

Ginny blinked again, “Oh, now I need to hear this. Give me the who, when, and where.”

If she were being honest with herself, she was completely unprepared for Hermione’s admission, if only for the line of thought she’d been pursuing just a moment ago.

“A man,” Hermione began, ticking one finger as she went, “His bed, this morning.”

“You are rotten Hermione Granger!” Ginny bit back with a laugh. “Details, I need the gory details!”

“Honestly Gin, it wasn’t anything like you think it was. I woke up, alone, fully clothed while he slept on the couch.”

“A gentleman then?”

Hermione nodded, “I think so.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“At which part?”

“Any of it I suppose,” Ginny reasoned.

“Ask me again in a few days once I sort through my feelings.” Hermione answered honestly. “But I can tell you this morning I woke in a panic, sure I’d ruined a perfectly good friendship. Then I spied him on the couch and there was a tiny bit of regret.”

Ginny nodded, “Regret for ending up in that sleeping arrangement, or regret for coming over?”

“I’m not sure, but the more I think about it the more I am a little sad nothing happened.” Hermione replied wistfully. “I am sure that I don’t regret going to his place for a second.”

“Is he good looking?” Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded, “Devilishly handsome and perfectly fit, though that doesn’t matter much to me.”

Ginny snorted, “I suppose not given you had a brief fling with Ron.”

Hermione gave her friend a playful shove. “Ginny! It was one kiss!”

“I’m just saying!” Ginny said with a giggle. “So, you wish you’d bedded this bloke then?”

“If you separate our friendship, honestly he’d make a good shag.” Hermione felt her face flush at the bold admittance. She couldn’t deny the affect the redheaded man had on her anymore, but to hear herself admit it out loud had crossed a line of no return. The emotions that Charlie had elicited from her last night and this morning came crashing back to her, spreading a warmth through her abdomen. It was hard to deny the attraction she had begun to feel for the man. 

And, if her true feelings ever came to light she knew that Ginny would be mortified to know the conversation had been about her brother. Hermione smiled to herself, satisfied at the set up.

Beside her Ginny leant her head on her shoulder, body shaking with laughter.

“Oh Hermione, I’ve missed these talks.” She said once she regained her composure. “Seems like just yesterday we were holed up in the dorms at Hogwarts gossiping about our crushes—”

“You mean the blokes you’d convinced yourself to crush on to get over Harry?”

“The very same,” Ginny replied in cheek.

Hermione smiled, eyes wandering across the yard towards the house. Finally, Charlie and Bill had reemerged, a pale Harry in tow. She watched as the Twins joined them, closing into a tight circle. From her spot she could see George talking animatedly while the others watched in interest.

Suddenly Charlie threw his head back and let out a deep laugh. Beside him George was leaning against the house for support as his own laughter had brought tears to his eyes. Fred stood, face red and full of embarrassment while Harry slowly backed away a few paces, eyes wide. Bill shook his head, chuckling.

“Wonder what that was about,” Hermione said in amusement. Her eyes found their way back to Charlie who had wiped a tear from his eye. Feeling her eyes on him, the man turned towards her and flashed a toothy grin before giving her a quick wink.

Hermione felt her face flush once more, prompting his grin to grow. She felt like a school girl, no longer able to control herself around a crush.

For the second time in the garden Ginny found herself watching the strange interaction between her best friend and brother. Slowly the conversation from earlier began to piece together in her mind, falling into place before she let out a long “oh” in surprise.

She supposed it made sense, the two of them had found a bond after the war in a way that was unlike the sibling bond Ginny shared with the other Weasley men. She knew that they’d helped each other over the years, forming a close relationship.

She also knew her brother enough to know when he was being a helpless flirt.

“Hermione Jean!” Ginny said suddenly, completely mortified. “You want to shag my brother!”

Mimicking Charlie, Hermione threw her head back and laughed loudly. The statement itself wasn’t particularly funny as Hermione found herself very much wanting to, but the incredulous look that Ginny wore as she shouted her name was too much.

“You—you made me talk—” Ginny cut off, pretending to gag. “We had an entire conversation about you bedding my brother!”

There was a crack that sounded behind them and Hermione had never been so glad for a distraction. The two witches turned and greeted Ron and his girlfriend, Elle, as they crossed into the boundaries of the Burrow’s wards.

Ron offered a friendly wave before splitting off to join the boys by the home while Elle turned towards the two women on the rock wall.

“Elle!” Hermione exclaimed, pulling the tall, blonde witch into a quick hug. “Congratulations on the new job. I wanted to send an owl but I figured it’d get lost in the shuffle.”

Elle’s green eyes rolled as a groan escaped her lips, “We had to hire a second mail clerk for this week. It’s insane—it’s not like I’m running the team! I’m just making sure those old codgers aren’t cocking up the contracts.”

Ginny pulled her into a quick hug, “Wish you would let them cock it up, it’d make beating you a hell of a lot easier.”

“I’ll remember that when the trade deadline comes around,” Elle replied with a mischievous grin.

“If it gets me a few more galleons, fuck it.” Ginny shrugged. “Though you might have to hold off, I’ve got a try out for the National team before the deadline.”

“What?!” Hermione and Elle exclaimed together.

“Gin—”

“Why—”

“National?!”

Ginny held up a hand, “Merlin let a woman speak! I just found out yesterday after practice. Gwenog pulled me in to let me know that the Arrow’s coach was tapped as the National Coach and put in a request for me to try out. It’s in three weeks, so I expect the two of you to keep quiet about it.”

“Gin this is amazing!” Elle gushed before hopping onto the rock wall beside the redhead.

“Honestly, this is incredible.” Hermione said in agreement.

“Just my life dream,” Ginny replied with ease, though she turned a little green at the thought.

“You’ll be brilliant.”

“I know, I’ve got three weeks to fret and puke over it.”

Hermione made a face, “That’s foul.”

“But true,” Elle said knowingly. “And not to steal your thunder Ginny, but your mum told me she’d have slipped the potion in the tea this morning before everyone came over, so everyone should be dosed and ready to go by the end of lunch.”

Ginny perked up at this, “I swiped a few of the joke pastries last time I was in the Twin’s shop. It’s just a matter of getting Victoire to get one to Bill without him noticing.”

“Leave that to me,” Hermione said. “I can distract him with rune talk while she swaps them out. What are you thinking?”

“Canary,” Ginny said with a wicked grin.

-.-.-

Lunch at the Burrow was always a spectacle, and she loved every second of it. It was loud, it was crowded, but it was home.

And it was family.

Like clockwork Victoire would bounce between each adult with ease before settling as Fred and George’s shadow. The Twins had wasted no time in making her their young apprentice and would use her innocent face to cause mayhem throughout each meal. Today was no exception as Victoire had successfully replaced her dad’s pastry with a Canary Cream. Hermione bit back a laugh as Bill’s bright pink hex landed squarely in George’s chest, showering him in glitter.

Across the table from her Ron had his head back in laughter, arm lazily wrapped around Elle’s shoulders. The blonde witch shared a knowing smirk with Hermione and Ginny before tapping the side of her glass, signaling that the show was about to begin.

As the table paid attention to the commotion between George and Bill, Victoire had woven her way through the legs of the adults under the table to pop up between Elle and Molly. The Weasley matron bent down and pulled her grandchild into her lap. She pressed a quick kiss to the child’s cheek, “Ready for round two?”

Victoire eagerly nodded her head.

“Elle?”

With a quick flourish of her wand, Elle glanced around the table as a ripple of magic settled across the adults. In the blink of an eye each person around her began to age, slowly at first before speeding up until the youngest at the table appeared to be well over 100 years old.

Fred and George let out a yelp as they faced one another while an aged Angelina and Katie groaned. They looked similar to the affects from crossing the age line from the Triwizard Tournament, though with a considerable amount of years added and much shorter beards.

“That’s what we’re stuck with?” Katie lamented, earning a half-hearted glare from George.

“Oi, as if you look any better!” Fred snapped at Harry and Ron who were wheezing with laughter. The silver haired duo were bent over the table clutching at their chests.

Elle flipped her now grey hair over her shoulder and raised a glass towards Hermione and Ginny. “To a plan well executed.”

“Great idea planting that pastry with Victoire, Ginny.” Hermione praised her friend.

“Couldn’t have done it without our favorite accomplice,” Ginny admitted before giving the young witch a high five.

“Betrayed by my own child,” Bill moaned as he rubbed a hand over his wrinkled face.

“Framed by my own blood,” Fred cried dramatically.

“No less than you deserve, dear.” Molly said before offering him a pitying smile.

“There’s still time for some anti-aging cream you know,” Harry offered once he and Ron had regained their composure. “Might be able to counteract some of those caverns.” His hand flicked between the Twins as he gestured to their faces.

Fred tossed a roll at the Auror’s head in a retort, but Harry caught it easily. “Nice to know my reflexes won’t slow in my old age.”

Hermione scoffed, “I think that showdown we had at the _Pitch_ is proof enough that that statement is a lie.”

“Says the witch that got burnt!”

“He was blindly firing!”

“Exactly!”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “He hit you _before_ the conjunctivitis curse.”

“Your memory is getting shoddy in your age, ‘Mione.” Harry laughed with a glint in his eye.

“You’d better watch your back, Roonil.” Hermione shot back smirk.

Across from her Ron choked on his drink and Elle gave him a firm pat on the back. Harry’s face broke out into a wide grin before he let out a loud laugh. Around him the Weasley family turned their attention to him, a mix of confusion and curiosity on their faces.

“Who the fuck is Roonil?” Fred demanded.

“Fred!” Molly began to scold as her hands went over Victoire’s ears. Fred offered his mother a sheepish look, pink tinging his ears.

“That’s what my friends call me,” Harry deadpanned.

“Oh Merlin,” Ginny groaned and let her head fall to Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione couldn’t help it any longer and dissolved into a fit of laughter, soon joined by Ginny and a wheezing Ron again.

“You lot are barmy,” George muttered. “Absolutely barmy.”

-.-.-

As the celebratory lunch wrapped up Hermione felt herself feeling content. She wasn’t sure the last time she simply just felt at ease—no fear, no anxiety, no nagging worry. She’d forgotten how nice it was to be in the Burrow surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the Weasley clan without the added baggage from the war.

“That nickname shouldn’t be so funny, circumstances considered.” Hermione admitted out loud.

“The gall that man had to lie to Snape, a Legilimens, is what makes it funny.”

“And the Twins’ ruddy quill,” Hermione added with a grin. “Roonil Wazlib, honestly.”

Beside her Ginny made a noise of agreement before she pulled her legs onto her chair, hugging her knees to her chest. “So, another brother?”

Hermione held on to the grin. “I suppose I do have a type.”

Ginny giggled by her friend, “When’d you know?”

It was a loaded question, though Hermione knew that Ginny hadn’t meant it like that. “If I think about it hard enough, a while I suppose. Kind of hard not to fall for the one person who’s seen you through every trip to rock bottom. He’s always so good to me, picking up the pieces when I can barely think.” Hermione replied, her voice low. Speaking her thoughts out loud was proving to be very therapeutic or her, she’d decided.

“You’re good to him too you know,” Ginny reminded her. “The war changed us all, but I think it had the most profound effect on him. It’s taken a while, but he’s starting to be the goofy, sarcastic prat that I grew up with. Too bad that ego never took a hit.” She added the last bit in jest.

Hermione smiled sadly, her mind flicking back to the drunken admissions in her flat six months prior.

“You’ve seemed to be a bit more of yourself lately—well, today at least. It’s good to see Hermione,” Ginny continued, making sure to look her friend in the eyes. “I’ll save you the ‘we all worry’ speech, because I know we all worry about each other, but I know the war wasn’t kind to you.”

“Gin, I think the same can be said for you,” Hermione said, referring to the year with the Carrow siblings. “I’m taking it day by day, and I know he is too. I’m bloody terrified that this will change everything.”

“Hermione it will change everything, but I think there’s a good chance it will change for good.”

“I can’t chance that Gin,” Hermione said sadly. “I—I just finally feel like I’m on the cusp of finally feeling okay. What Charlie and I have is…”

“A strange bond that took us all by surprise?”

Hermione chuckled despite herself, “Precisely. By all accounts it doesn’t make sense, but he was here when everyone left to deal with their grief. I was so lost and I think he was too, and we just found this solace in one another. No expectations to say all the right things to feel better, no judgement on how we actually felt.”

“Hermione—” Ginny began with a frown.

“I don’t mean to make it sound like you abandoned me,” Hermione interrupted her. “Everyone did what they had to do to get by and I’ll never fault any of you for it. I opted to stay here to help your mum. It was a combination of me refusing to accept the reality that my own mum will always be Monica Wilkins and needing something to focus on before I lost my mind. Charlie was there and dealing with his own things, so it just made sense to band together to get through all the traumas of war.”

Ginny could tell there was more to her words, but she knew her friend enough to know that she’d had her fill of talking for the day. Leaning back in her chair she watched the family around her, find a smile creeping to her face at the interactions. They’d come a long way since May 2, 1998, and it really felt like they were starting to hit their stride.

There was a pang of sadness as she thought of how much her dad would have enjoyed the table to so full of family. She wondered what he would have said to Harry when he’d ask for her hand.

A sobering thought struck her then, as she wondered who would walk her down the aisle.

-.-.-

“Have I told you how much more I enjoy your antics than the twins?” He asked her as he snaked his arms around her waist. Pressing a quick kiss to her exposed neck, he reveled in the feeling of her laughing in his arms.

“Buttering me up won’t make you exempt,” Elle said as she turned in his arms.

“I can’t believe you’d insinuate that I would do such a thing,” Ron said with a mock frown.

Elle rolled her eyes and pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek before wiggling out of his grasp and heading back to the kitchen to help Molly clean up. “You’re cute when you pout.”

“Honestly though, at least you lot aren’t so smug about a successful prank.” Ron said as he fell in step behind her. “And after a lifetime of being on the receiving end of those pricks, it’s a nice change of pace.”

A scoff sounded from the kitchen as they entered. “You two are sickening,” Ginny said with a fake gag before yelping as her mother expertly boxed her ear without looking.

“Play nice dears,” Molly said in warning.

Ron stuck his tongue out at his sister. Beside him Elle mimicked the Weasley matron and boxed her boyfriend’s ear with a giggle.

“Oi!” He cried out, ducking his head to the side and flashing her a look of betrayal. “We’re on the same team.”

“Just practicing for our future kids,” Elle said nonchalantly before moving to the other side of Mrs. Weasley to begin putting up the dinnerware.

Ron’s ears burned a bright red that matched the rest of his flushed face. Across from him Ginny gave him an encouraging smile and a mouthed ‘I told you so’.

Clearing his throat lightly Ron fought the blush, “Well with my genetics you’ll be a pro in no time.”

Elle groaned, “Don’t remind me. At least your mum can give me pointers.”

“What are we pointing?” Harry asked as he wandered in looking for his girlfriend. Ginny quickly slipped herself under his arm and planted a firm kiss on his lips.

“Just collecting advice for our future kids,” Ron said easily, pointedly looking away from the display of affection between his best mate and sister. He suppressed a laugh when he finally looked back at the duo, watching as Harry blanched, eyes darting between him and the blonde. Elle shot him a smirk over her shoulder and offered a wink.

Harry caught the interaction and turned to Ginny who shrugged and settled for whispering in his ear. A look of realization crossed his face at her words. “Right. Well, Merlin help us when the spawn of Ron Weasley graces the earth.” To add emphasis he gave a dramatic shudder, much to Ron’s chagrin.

“Oi my children will be lovely!”

“Oh I’m sure dear,” Mrs. Weasley cut in. “Especially with half of their genetics from their mother. We can only hope the Parkin’s genetics are strong.”

Harry tipped his head in laughter as Ron began to protest. “Oh honestly!” Ron said adamantly, blinking in thought. “Well, actually you may have a point. I was not a pleasant kid.”

“Understatement of the year,” Ginny offered dryly.

“Like you were any better Ginevra!”

“Ronald—”

In a well-practiced tandem Harry and Elle silenced their partners with a strategically placed kiss.

-.-.-

“How’s the arm?” Bill asked her as he sat on the rock wall.

“Better than a few days ago,” Hermione responded honestly, eyes watching Victoire dart across the garden with little Ophelia in tow.

“Charlie mentioned it had acted up.”

“Gossip about me much?”

“Often,” Bill said with a chuckle, ignoring her noise of indignance. “We had a lunch the other day and hashed out the last decade or so.”

This caught her surprise. Hermione turned from watching the youngest Weasley playing and cocked her head to the side. “Really?”

Bill nodded, “I was as surprised as you. Seems that you inspired him to stop running from his past.”

She felt the blush creeping on her face but she bit back the emotions that came along with it. Now was definitely not the time to be sorting through them. “Some inspiration, it took me half a decade to finally pull it off.”

His laugh calmed her nerves, “I think it was a group effort, but I’m just glad he’s moving on from it all. I know things haven’t been easy for him.”

“No, not exactly.” She said in agreement. Her mind flashed through their late-night confessions and she felt her heart grow heavy. “The war fucked us all, and he’s no exception.”

“I wanted to thank you,” Bill began before she cut him off.

“There’s nothing to thank.”

“Hermione—”

“Honestly, there isn’t.” She said with a shake of her head. “He’s been there for me through some awful things, the least I can do it be there when he needs me.”

She wasn’t positive, but she was pretty sure Bill had muttered something about them being oblivious.

“I know you worry about him,” She said with a smile.

“I worry about all of you,” Bill clarified. “It’s my duty as the eldest.”

“Well join the club, because I haven’t stopped worrying about you lot since I was eleven.”

He offered a shrug in response before chastising his daughter for petting Ophelia too hard. Victoire frowned and gently patted the crup’s head, exclaiming in delight as Bill praised her for doing it right.

“How the hell are Fleur and I going to do this with another kid?” He said in exasperation as his daughter flopped into the dirt to show the pup how to roll over.

Hermione laughed, “I think you forgot that announcement at dinner.”

Bill stiffened beside her, “Fuck.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank Merlin, Fleur would pitch me from the cliffs.” He ran a hand over his face and groaned. “But honestly, how did my mum do it with seven of us? I can’t imagine doing anything with _two_.”

“Patience,” Hermione guessed. “Lots of patience.”

“Especially with the Twins,” he agreed with a firm nod. His words seemed to strike a chord as he returned his head to his hands, groaning louder than before. “What if it’s twins?”

“You’re fucked,” Hermione said definitively and patted his arm comfortingly.


	10. 10

Hermione landed hard on the patch of gravel, instantly recalling why she hated traveling by portkey so much. Beside her she heard Blaise’s audible grunt as he landed off balance, nearly toppling into her. She threw out a hand to keep him from taking them both out, while he muttered a half-hearted apology.

Snickering she hoisted her bag up higher on her back, finally taking a moment to take in their new scenery. While she’d never been to Romania, the land where the Reserve was nestled was absolutely gorgeous. It was down deep in a valley, surrounded by a thick forest. Off in the distance she could make out the tall peaks of rigid stone jutting through the horizon. A tiny spec appeared on the furthest peak before it shot through the air, wings spread wide.

She nearly gasped as the dragon began to soar across the skyline, sweeping low into the tree line. In the distance she heard the rumble of its mighty roar.

There was a familiar sense of serenity that washed over her then, as she marveled in how peaceful the place was despite the horrific incident that took place a little over a week prior.

Dragging her eyes from the Reserve, Hermione took in the scene where they’d landed. Around them a small camp had been erected. Dozens of tents sat situated around a singular, large tent that had various people going in and out of.

“That’s the main communications tent,” Cho said beside her. “Our tents are those over there, with the orange flags. You should see a small plaque with your name on them.”

“Brilliant,” Blaise said and headed across the camp towards the tall orange flags.

Hermione fell quickly behind him while Cho headed into the communications tent. Her eyes glanced at the small wooden plaques tacked to the cloth of the tent, reading off each name until she found her own—nestled between Blaise and Cho. Just before Blaise’s tent she’d caught Bill and Charlie’s names, making her wonder if they’d already arrived for the week.

Hermione ducked into her tent, eyes adjusting to the dim light. It wasn’t much and eerily reminded her of the tent that she’d shared with Harry and Ron. It was certainly smaller, nearly half the size, and didn’t have a space for table. Instead a small desk had been shoved up against the wall opposite the tent’s entrance.

Quickly she crossed the entrance and slipped the straps of her bag from her shoulders. The sudden lack of weight on her back sent a shiver of relief through her as she placed the bag on the desk.

She glanced around the tent, biting her lip as she tried to decide whether to unpack what little she’d brought, or head to check on Blaise before going to the communications tent to meet the rest of the reserve.

Deciding on the latter option, Hermione trudged out of her temporary home. She was surprised to see her partner already standing outside her tent, arms crossed and looking rather bored.

“Second thoughts?”

Blaise shook his head, “Rather wish I’d have gotten a bit more sleep last night.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows and he quickly waved her off. Together they set off towards the communication tent at a leisurely pace.

“That’s definitely not why.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” She replied innocently. “Though for the record there’s no shame coming from me.”

Blaise snorted, “Is that why you’re so chipper?”

“I technically did wake up in a foreign bed Sunday,” Hermione said easily. “But it was more therapeutic than for sport.”

Blaise made a face at her before dissolving into laughter. “Merlin Granger, I need this change of pace this week.”

“Believe me, I know. That last case was—”

“Fucking odd.” Blaise finished for her.

Hermione nodded. “I can’t believe how quickly he spiraled.”

She was of course talking about how quickly Justin had come unraveled, going from systematic murders over four countries until finally cracking the mystery of his family. He’d set a record for the quickest confession, almost happy to be sent off to Azkaban.

“He was a ticking time bomb,” Blaise reasoned. “Who had one last shot at finding his last sibling and getting into Azkaban to murder his father. The bloke was persecuted for being seen as less than, when in actuality he was on their side of the ideology.”

Hermione made a noise at the mention of persecution, “You read my after-action, correct?”

Blaise nodded as they turned the last corner towards the large tent.

“So you know—”

“I know what he was going to do, and I know that Astoria will be getting her Order of Merlin, Second Class next week.”

Hermione fell silent, unsure of how to process that information. “I’ll need to be there.”

“You aren’t required.”

“It’d be in poor taste not to congratulate the person that quite literally saved my life,” Hermione reasoned.

They’d reached the tent and she effectively ended the discussion by entering before her partner. Blaise fell in step behind her as she made her way towards the crowd gathered around a long table. Quietly he found a place beside her and Cho, greeting the familiar redhead on the opposite side of the table.

Charlie returned the greeting, eyes lingering on Hermione for a fraction of a second. He took a quick glance at his watch before turning his attention towards the crowd. He counted the eight Reserve workers and the three other Ministry officials that had showed up this morning after he and Bill arrived.

From the crowd James nodded at him, his means of support.

Satisfied that his crew was all here, he began to speak.

“The Minister has asked me to head this effort since Bill and I worked on the wards on Boxing Day,” he began, eyes roaming the familiar faces. It was odd for him to be on this side of the group—he was used to being on the receiving end of directions. The familiar sensation began to scratch at his throat, the telltale sign that the panic was begging to bubble.

Discretely he clenched one fist, mentally counting down from five in an effort to slow his thoughts.

Crowds proved an issue for him since the war, though he’d assumed that the small group that was comprised of family, friends, and acquaintances wouldn’t cause him any issues.

But out of the corner of his eye he could have sworn the tent poles had grown closer.

Blinking, he steadied his breath and continued to address the crowd around him. “The basics of the plan are simple—Rowle, Williams, Hughes, and Ingles you lot are on feeding duty. You’ll bait the dragons to the back of the reserve while we get in and fix the runes and erect the wards. Burke—you and your brother will be scout team up high, relaying between the cattle team and the team on the ground.

“Bill, Morse, and I will work on the wards while the rest of you alternate on fixing the runes. We’ve got nine zones, so we’ll attempt three a day. We’ve been cleared for a week, but if we need to take longer the Minister has given me permission to extend our time here.”

He paused and allowed the room to digest his plan. With a wave of his wand the tabletop began to ripple and a topographical model of the reserve appeared. A tiny flag marked where they were in the communications tent while thin white lines marked the entrance to each dragon enclosure. Two solid black lines appeared, centimeters apart, to create two circles that encompassed the two separate parts of the Reserve.

With another wave of his wand a letter began to glow in the center of each enclosure.

“Hermione and Blaise, you’ll be first up with zone A. Cho and Sallow you’ll take zone B and alternate until all the dragons are safe in their enclosures. When you aren’t working on your own enclosures, you’ll be stationed in the air ready to intervene if necessary. Any questions?”

A young woman with short brown hair nodded, “How are we going to keep them in their enclosures while we work on the others? The runes don’t exactly tie them to the sections.”

“Good call Hughes,” Charlie remarked. “My team will be erecting temporary wards on each enclosure that will keep the dragons in their specific area. We won’t release them until we can get them all back in and make sure that the wards over the administrative side are back up.”

“That’s fine and all, but how do we know the wards won’t fail?” The question came from an older man, heavily scared on his face and arms. Hermione found herself cringing at the question.

Charlie held his head high, ready to respond when Cho interrupted him. “The only reason the wards fell the first time was because the person who tampered with the runes had Imperiused one of the security guards that night.”

“Justin remarked how hard it was to breach them in his confession,” Blaise added from his spot beside Hermione.

Charlie blinked at the two of them, wanting to convey his thanks but turned his attention back towards the Reserve workers. He understood their frustrations—the man responsible for the wards was the one leading the efforts to repair them.

“Bill is an expert in wards,” He heard Hermione say. The crowed turned towards her, but she kept her eyes trained on his brother. “The wards he recommended to me are what kept Harry, Ron, and I alive while we were on our…mission. You can trust them.”

There was a quiet murmur as the man folded his arms. “We start tomorrow at 06:00, so meet back here. Those of you on rune duty come get your zone assignments and the corresponding runes. You’ll need to know them better than the back of your hand because once the dragons realize you are in the bounds of the wards, they’ll be on you in no time. I don’t want anyone in there longer than sixty seconds.”

With that he dismissed the group, pausing only long enough to nod to the few Reserve workers who would give him their gaze.

He needed to get out of the small tent before the panic completely took him.

The tightening sensation in his chest grew as the scratching at his throat increased with each ragged breath. He wasn’t sure where he was headed, but as if in a trance his feet carried him across the pop-up camp and towards a wooded area that separated the Reserve from the tiny wizarding village to the north.

He reached out, one shaky hand resting on a tree when he’d made his way far enough to be covered by the foliage.

His breath quickened but the burning in his lungs raged on. Charlie shut his eyes and felt his knees connect with the hard dirt, and for a brief moment the pain sent a shock through his body. He gasped for air, desperately trying to pull himself back.

A cool hand appeared on his face, and a soothing voice asked if he was alright. He shut his eyes again, focusing on the cool touch, trying his hardest to breath in slow, deep breaths.

The panic began to fade slowly, leaving him gasping.

“Charlie,” The voice said again. It sounded so far away, though he knew that the person it belonged to stood right beside him.

He opened his eyes and found himself staring into Hermione’s gaze. He blinked, once, twice, three times. Her voice sounded again, this time ringing clearly in his head.

“Herm—” He rasped.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and helped him sit back against the tree, waving a hand to keep him from talking. “Focus on your breathing,” She said soothingly.

Hermione knelt in the dirt beside him, keeping one hand on his cheek. Slowly Charlie lifted his hand and rested it on her own, sending a shockwave through her body. She bit down on it, focusing on helping him through the panic attack.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

He nodded into her hand, eyes closing briefly. His breathing had evened out considerably when he finally answered. “Six months?”

“Is that why you had the drinking contest with Fred?”

Another nod, “Stopped the panic.”

She gave him a sad smile and took a seat on the ground beside him. Slipping one arm around his torso she pulled him close into a side embrace, just as she had done a dozen times before. She felt him relax into her arms as she spoke. “It did a bit more than stop the panic, if I remember right.”

She felt him chuckle. “What I wouldn’t give to get the rest if my memories back from that night.” 

She eyed him curiously, recalling vividly what they had discussed. “I thought you didn’t remember anything after—what was it, five shots and bottle of gin?”

“Six and half of a bottle of vodka, for what it’s worth. I have bits and pieces, but it’s all mucked up in there,” Charlie admitted. “Some of it I think I might have dreamt, to be honest.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked. “You often have dreams with me?”

Had she not had her head leant against his she would have seen the blush burning on his cheeks.

“Perhaps I do,” He said boldly. “Though I’m afraid that night’s ‘dream’ wasn’t a pleasant kind, at least if my drunken memory is anything to go by.”

Hermione chuckled into his side, burying her head. “That’s a bit of an understatement. Maybe one day I’ll let you run through your _dream_ and tell you which bits actually happened.”

He gave her a squeeze, “I’d like that.”

-.-.-

It was almost a given that the first attempt at getting the runes reset would be the most trying—it was the first run of the plan and inevitably there would be tweaking to do. However, Hermione felt quite confident that she was not prepared for such a fight out of the Horntail (though looking back and knowing it was the same Horntail that Harry had faced all those years ago she should have expected it).

Charlie’s plan on distracting the dragons had gone off without a hitch. However, the second she and Blaise had apparated in the dragon had began to roar in the distance. They’d worked in tandem, wands out and recurving the runes—tranquility, shielding, nesting, fire protection—in the white marble that outlined the entrance to the enclosure. They’d been swift in their movements, but the Horntail had immediately doubled back in a fury.

Above them they’d gotten the calls to abandon, but they’d been on the last rune. The tip of her wand glowed against newly formed line as Blaise grabbed her arm, disapparating them as the blast sounded from the front of the enclosure.

Pain seared through her back as they landed awkwardly on the ground outside the wards. Ignoring the burning she turned towards the enclosure to see the Horntail spit fire at the crowd. The wards did their job and kept the fire contained, but the blast of warm air stung her face. A crunch sounded as one of the aerial teams landed, feet slapping against the gravel.

“There’s a fucking egg!” The man—Burke, she recalled—shouted. He threw his broom across the camp, shouting profanities.

“Where the fuck is Charlie?” The other Burke brother shouted as he landed. 

“Here!” She heard his voice call. “And what the hell do you mean there’s a fucking egg in there?! The bloody thing hasn’t even mated yet!”

Hermione grimaced at the anger in his voice.

“Well there’s a shiny blue egg in the middle of that enclosure.” The first Burke brother spat, moving closure to Charlie. He stood a good head taller than the Weasley son, and just as broad. “And I don’t have a bleeding clue how it got there, so save your breath!”

She blinked, watching the two share an angry fight. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Charlie this angry, not even when he was battling his own demons. Their shouts grew muffled, and for the first time since the spitfire she felt the pain in her back.

Staggering back she felt a hand on her arm. “Let’s sit you down. We’ve got Blaise over here already.”

Hermione turned, realizing it was one of the woman keepers—a tall brunette that had her hair pulled into a tight bun. The woman’s round face was etched in concern as she gently helped her to the ground. A few meters away she saw Blaise on his stomach, shirt in a wadded ball beside him while Cho knelt over him with her wand healing his wounds.

He shot her a grimace to let her know he was at least alive.

“Name’s Caiti Hughes. We’ve got to get this shirt off you to assess your back, and it’s going to hurt doll.”

Hermione gritted her teeth and nodded at the older witch. “Just another Tuesday for me then.”

The woman scoffed, unaware of the Aurors recent string of bad luck. She began to peel back the tattered shirt, swearing when she realized how much of the fabric was stuck to the open wound. “Change of plans, we’re vanishing it. Hope you aren’t modest.”

Hermione didn’t have time to protest before the material covering her torso vanished. There was a tingle as the fabric dissolved from her wound, eliciting a groan in pain.

“Merlin doll, you’ve done a bang-up job.” Caiti muttered as she assessed the long, jagged gash that spanned the width of her shoulder blades before curving down towards her ribs. There were still small chunks of rocks from the blast lodged in the open wound. “I think I can work around the bra, but it’ll be tricky.”

“Feels fucking fantastic,” Hermione bit out.

Caiti chuckled, and began to slowly wave her wand over the wound, clearing the debris and working on sanitizing the skin around it. Hermione bit her lip to keep from crying out and pulled her knees to her chest. She let her head rest against the top of her knees so as to hide the agonizing faces she was making.

“Sorry doll, this one is going to—”

“Ah! FUCK!” Hermione shouted, shuddering from the pain.

“Hermione?”

“Charlie she’s—” Blaise interjected, voice muffled since his face was firmly placed against the dirt in a vain attempt to stifle his cries in pain.

“I’m fin—GODAMN it, Caiti!” Hermione let out a string of curses. 

“Sorry doll, that’s the last of them. The rest will be the normal pinches as the skin repairs itself.”

“Hermione?” She heard Charlie say as he knelt beside her.

“Tell Kinglsey I want hazard pay,” She ground out, refusing to lift her head.

Charlie shook his head and let out an apprehensive laugh. “You already get hazard pay—you’re a bloody Auror.”

“A raise then.”

“Hear, hear.” Blaise said from where he’d been laid on his stomach.

Charlie let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding and moved behind the witch on the ground. He watched as Caiti finished patching up the wound and let out a low whistle. “Impressive Hermione.”

“Almost as impressive as the scar that Hebredian Black gave you—what was it, almost a decade ago?” Caiti remarked as she sat back on her heels.

Charlie nodded, eyes tracing the long, jagged line that would no doubt scar. “Prick got me stem to sternum.”

A peculiar sight caught his eye, “Hermione... is that a hippogriff?”

“Oh, fuck.” Hermione groaned into her knees. She decided it was a good thing that her face was hidden from view as her face burned with embarrassment.

“A hippogriff?” She heard Blaise ask.

“A hippogriff.” Caiti said decidedly. “And a damn good one too.”

“A hippogriff?!” Blaise asked again, this time pushing himself up from the ground despite Cho’s protests. He stumbled over to his partners side, surprise falling from his lips as his eyes discovered the palm-sized creature situated on Hermione’s hip.

Hermione groaned into her knees again, “Fucking Ginny,” she said miserably.

The sound of sisters startled Charlie, prompting him to pull his eyes from the tattoo. “What’s my innocent sister have to do with this?”

“Everything!” Hermione exclaimed. “That wench got me pissed and thought it would be a good idea to get matching tattoos and then backed out.”

Blaise snickered, “A hippogriff.”

“Why a hippogriff?” Charlie asked, blinking in confusion.

“I’d reckon it’s because Potter was rumored to have one on his chest while we were in school.” Blaise recalled. “Always knew he was too modest for it.”

Hermione nodded, finally lifting her head from her knees. “That’s exactly it, but then she got all clammed up about the pain. She plays quidditch for a living and a needle sent her in a spin! So the bloke gave her a damn bowtruckle!”

“A what?!” Charlie exclaimed.

“A bowtruckle is a—” Caiti began beside him, mischievous glint in her eyes.

“I know what a fucking bowtruckle is Caiti,” Charlie snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“You asked,” the brunette replied with a shrug.

-.-.-

After a lengthy discussion it was decided that the egg was placed there in an effort to rile up the dragons, presumably to help facilitate incident orchestrated by Justin Finch-Fletchy. They discovered that only a few of the enclosures had been tampered with, which had greatly sped up their mission, much to Charlie’s pleasure.

However, the small victory was short lived with the Burke brothers spotted another egg in the final enclosure belonging to an older Vipertooth. It was clear that they weren’t going to be able to distract the mother long enough to reset the runes, so they had to fall on plan B and work on stunning the dragon long enough to remove the egg and get the runes in place again.

On Wednesday morning it was decided that the cattle crew would bait the Vipertooth to the grazing area with food. The pasture used for the cattle was large and flat, giving them the best opportunity to subdue the giant beast.

They’d all taken their positions, and Charlie had given the cattle team the signal. It didn’t take long for the Vipertooth to show interest in feeding, but it had taken its time leaving the nest. It circled back to the egg three times before it took off in flight towards the scent of its prey.

The plan was simple, on Simon Burke’s signal they’d rain down the stunners while the cattle team and the Burke brothers shot ropes to tie the creature down. In a perfect world they’d only need seven or eight to subdue the beast, but with the added stress of protecting her egg the Vipertooth would no doubt put up a fight. It was James’ call to opt for half-stunning the dragon and getting it pinned in place, knowing that when the dragon came to after being stunned she’d likely go on a rampage in search for the fake egg. By keeping her semi-conscious they’d be able to reset the runes and allow her to see they weren’t a direct threat to the egg—or at least that was the hope, Hermione reminded herself as they took their places in the clearing.

But, as with most plans, everything went out the window as the Vipertooth began to spit fire at the cattle team, forcing them to loop around while the rest of them fired their stunners. It was expected that the dragon would lash out with fire, but typically it was a last resort with the large creatures. From experience the keepers had expected the dragon to try and trample, to stomp around, or to lash out with its spiked tail. Instead the dragon had immediately gone onto defense with its most deadly trait.

The brilliant red lights of the stunners lit up the morning sky, absorbing into the hide of the dragon. Hermione counted two that landed, but it didn’t seem to faze the mother much. The dragon stumbled to the side, head thrashing at the attack. One of the Burke brothers was able to get a rope secured to the dragon’s back leg, anchoring it to the ground.

With a deafening roar the dragon swung its tail wildly, desperately trying to flee. Helena Rowle on the cattle team secured the other back leg, barely ducking the blast of fire aimed at her broom. Charlie sent another stunner that connected with the dragon’s eye, sending it stumbling to the side. Hermione aimed and shot another stunner straight to the dragon’s head. Adrenaline shot through her as the red jet connected with the Vipertooth’s snout.

 _Only a few more,_ she thought idly as she watched the tail with apprehension. Above them another member of the cattle team unsuccessfully tried to get a rope around the tail. Beside her she heard Charlie curse loudly, moving swiftly across the front of the dragon with his wand aimed. There was another deafening roar as the Vipertooth shot her flames into the air.

“FALL BACK!” Charlie exclaimed as the dragon’s movements became more erratic. They’d have to make due with it being anchored to the ground by the two legs, though he wasn’t sure how long the ropes would last without having sufficiently stunned it. 

Above him the cattle team and the Burke brothers complied, turning their brooms to the south to escape the firey range of the mother dragon. On the ground around him the team began to disapparate one by one, leaving him to back away from the thrashing creature, wand still brandished.

He watched the beast’s tail swing at him, ducking at the last second. Another roar filled his ears and suddenly he was flying through the air, wand flying from his grasp. He felt the sting of from the barbs on the dragon’s tail as he collided with something solid. Black dots danced in his vision as he rolled out of the way of the spitfire, feeling the heat licking his arm.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he rolled to the side again, barely dodging the fire a second time. His back was throbbing from the spikes and his head felt like it was going to explode from pain that was pulsating behind his eyes.

_I’m fucked._

-.-.-

Across the reserve Hermione watched helplessly as Charlie was tossed through the air. Her heart clinched as she heard her voice screaming his name. The adrenaline pulsed in her ears as her mind went into autopilot.

“Blaise, Fullerton raid!” She shouted, looking wildly for her partner.

She spotted him to her left, wand still out. “You distract while I extract?”

“Give me five seconds before going in.”

“Copy that,” was his reply.

She took off in a sprint towards the dragon, ignoring the shouts from the dragon keepers.

“HERMIONE, NO!” There was no mistaking his deep voice as Bill shouted after her. She felt a hand grasp at her arm, but she shook it off without hesitation. Closing her eyes mid stride, she concentrated on the field just to the north of the dragon. In the blink of an eye she reappeared directly in front of the dragon, a few meters out of the range of her tail.

Faintly she heard Charlie shouting at her, his tone matching his brothers only moments before.

Using the distraction she thrust her wand towards the beast’s eyes, sending off the most powerful stunner she could muster.

The red spell collided with the Vipertooth’s left eye, snapping its head to one side. It lolled slightly, before finding its second wind.

_One_

_Two_

_Thre_

_Four_

_Five_

The dragon lowered its head before rearing back into an almighty roar. Below it she spotted Blaise as he popped in and grabbed Charlie’s arm.

She could feel the rumble as the dragon prepared its familiar spout of flame. Just a few more seconds and they’d be free—

Blaise nodded at her while Charlie shouted her name again.

She blinked once, watching as the familiar orange glow grew in the mouth of the Vipertooth.

Closing her eyes, she turned on her heel as the blast of hot air collided with her.


	11. 11

The warm air sent shivers through her body as she reappeared in the clearing behind the mismatched group of dragon keepers, ministry officials, and a lone curse breaker.

Time had slowed as the ball of fire had came barreling for her, just as it had when Justin was three syllables from killing her. Around her the sounds were muffled—she could hear shouting, and a lone cry. There was a ringing in her ear, growing louder as the seconds passed.

Blinking she realized it was her own voice crying out. 

The ringing grew louder, and she clamped a hand to her head. She stumbled forward a few steps as the last few seconds came crashing back to her at once. She was paralyzed, mind racing.

_Charlie—Blaise—the dragon…_

“Hermione!” Her name sounded so foreign through the ringing. It was muffled and distorted, as if she were underwater.

“Hermione!” There was terror in it that time, but she couldn’t move. 

Everything around her blurred, and for a second she swore she could have feinted.

“HERMIONE!”

The raw emotion of the scream snapped her back into reality and she felt herself stumble forward again. Her eyes scanned the group in front of her, looking and praying for the familiar red hair and black dreads. Her knee’s buckled and it took every last bit of her energy to stop herself from collapsing to the ground.

She’d been seconds from death, again. She’d seen Charlie tossed aside by a dragon. She’d seen Blaise beside him as the dragon turned its attention to her.

She hadn’t seen them make it out.

They had to make it out, right?

That’s why she stood in front of the dragon, to make sure they’d get out safe.

Why couldn’t she spot them?

Had she died? Is that why everything felt so off?

“HERMIONE!”

Finally, she spotted him—clutching Blaise for support as he desperately made his way towards her. Her voice was caught in her throat as she tried to call out to him.

He caught his footing, shoving himself from Blaise as he closed the gap towards her, pulling her up into a crushing embrace. He breathed her name in her ear, sending a wave of calmness rolling through her body.

“Charlie—“ she’d finally found her voice. It was hoarse, as if she’d been crying.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, voice breaking.

“I’m alive,” She repeated, more as a reaffirmation for herself.

She pulled her head back, chancing a look at his face and finding herself surprised at the raw emotion. His eyes were searching hers, full of desperation and fear as he reaffirmed her statement for himself.

“I’m alive.” She whispered again before her lips were crashing against his.

He returned her kiss, deep and hungry. Time around them slowed, as if the world had come to a stop. She leant into him, arms snaking behind his neck. This wasn’t a gentle kiss like she’d shared with Viktor. This wasn’t the adrenaline filled, chaste kiss with Ron. This wasn’t the drunken snog she’d shared with Oliver at the Twins’ last birthday dinner.

This was emotional and raw. She felt him in that moment—felt his fear, his anxiety, his worry. She felt his love and his loneliness as if it had mirrored her own. Her lungs were burning, but she couldn’t pull away, not yet.

Charlie’s fingers were buried in her long braid, pulling her closer to him. There was a comfort in his arms that she hadn’t expected.

It felt like home.

She felt her lips pull into a smile before she pulled back. Hermione searched his face, taking in all the details—the freckles dotting his nose, the tiny crow’s feet just barely visible in the corners of his eyes, the scruffy beginnings of a beard. She wanted to remember exactly how he looked in this moment.

Charlie’s face was apprehensive, as if he were waiting for her to cut and run. “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered. 

“The kiss or the dragon?”

The way his eyes averted hers nearly broke her heart. She could see how scared he was, and recalled his drunken admission from six months ago. Gently she reached up and pulled his face to hers, letting her lips lay softly against his.

“Because I don’t regret either.”

There was a beat of silence, and Hermione was suddenly aware that they no doubt had an audience. Had she not already been around them topless the other day, she may have found it in her to be embarrassed about the abrupt snog.

“Hermione—”

“I mean it Charlie.” She cut him off.

He caught her gaze and was nearly taken aback by the passion he saw on her face. The fleeting feeling that he needed to run wilted, and suddenly he was left to confront the reality that the woman he’d just recently realized he was falling for had purposely kissed him in a field full of dragon keepers, ministry officials, and his older brother.

“You could have died,” He replied finally, referencing the dragon.

“I faced a werewolf at thirteen with the same concept and made it out alright,” Hermione replied lightly.

Charlie let out a huff in surprise, “Werewolves, hippogriffs, and dragons? I didn’t realize I was in the company of Magizoologist.”

“And a thestral a time or two,” Hermione added with a laugh. Her laughter was music to his ears, and for a moment the panic of watching her stare down a Vipertooth and disappear into a burst of flames had eased. It had been near crippling, to watch her standing there, wand raised as the dragon reared back.

His screams had still rung in his ears as Blaise disapparated them both to the edge of the clearing, just beyond the wards. He’d gone into a full panic, desperate to get back to her. He wasn’t sure if it was his body protesting after being flung twenty meters or the onset of the panic attack, but he hadn’t been able to catch his footing. Everything was blurred, as if he were watching it through a looking glass.

Then he’d spotted her. For a moment he wasn’t even sure if it were his imagination because she’d stood so still, unmoving. Something inside of her clicked, and he’d watched her stumble forward. That had been the sign that he needed to know that she was real, and he’d (rather ungracefully) flung himself from the Auror holding him up.

But here she was, in his arms, head back in laughter.

He watched her then, as the world around them began to come back into focus. Though he hadn’t noticed the ragged sound of his breathing until now, the air began to pass more evenly through his lungs.

He smiled at her again and let his head fall to the crook of her neck, savoring the feeling of her in his arms.

 _She was alive_.

-.-.-

Bill stood with his arms crossed and a smug look plastered on his face as he watched his brother and Hermione from afar.

Beside him Blaise was chuckling, “It only took them nearly dying.”

Bill found himself nodding, “I wouldn’t expect anything different from them, though. Seems like she’s always one step from death and he used to play with dragons for a living.”

“Don’t remind me—if I had a galleon for every time she waved at death in passing I’d be bloody rich.”

“Zabini, you _are_ rich.”

“You know what I mean,” Blaise responded with an eye roll.

Bill gave him a knowing look before turning his attention back to the couple. “What was that you were shouting, just before she took off after the dragon?”

Blaise cast him a sideways glance, mind sorting through the last few minutes. “Fullerton raid,” he said finally. “We had to do a bit of a tandem distract and extract with a group of poachers out in Wales. She popped in and distracted them while I apparated to one of our fallen Aurors to get him out. It went a bit more smoothly though, if I’m honest.”

“Well I’d hope so, there wasn’t a large beast shooting fire at that raid.” A feminine voice added as Cho stepped beside the Auror.

“No, but there was a bloke who I’m positive was part troll.”

Cho found herself giggling, “That’s not right.”

“Neither was he.”

-.-.-

The sun had set through the valley, leaving a blanket of cool air under the crisp night sky. They’d regrouped after the dragon incident to finish out redoing the wards and runes. Cho and her partner had carved the runes while Blaise and Hermione helped Charlie’s crew erect the wards over what would be the rebuilt administrative side. By late afternoon they had begun to remove the temporary wards on each enclosure, and Hermione felt herself in awe of the way the dragons interacted with one another once the invisible boundaries were gone.

They soared through the air together, circling in a whimsical formation. Others were playful, jutting their heads together as if they were sparing. Some simply roamed the other enclosures, exploring the differing terrains.

She knew then why Charlie had never wanted to leave. The scene before her was beautiful and serene, and so completely different from the wizarding world she lived in. There was no threat of Death Eaters, no major crimes, no paparazzi. Just the dragons interacting in an outdoor oasis.

A good part of her was going to be sad to leave the reserve in the morning, so she opted to make the most of her last night by taking up a spot near the campfire, long after everyone had gone to bed. She’d made her usual cup of tea with the dwindling embers of the fire.

As she sipped on the lukewarm liquid she began to reflect on the last few days. That reflection turned into weeks, which turned into months, and before she knew it, she’d lost herself in her thoughts.

She was back in her flat, huddled close to Charlie’s chest as the battle raged on in her mind with her admission. In a blink she was running through a forest, chasing a group of poachers in Wales, wand brandished.

Another blink and she was standing in her apartment, feeling overwhelmed and completely alone after a long week at work, dreading the looming holiday. Her heart was heavy and her mind couldn’t escape the guilt of what she’d done to her parents, not even after five years. Another flash and she was sitting in the pub next to her confidant, whom she hadn’t seen since that night on her couch.

She was in the Ministry, roaming the halls towards the Minister’s suite, desperately fighting the feeling of unease that took hold.

Blink—Justin staring at her.

Blink—the Horntail crashing into the cliff beside her and Blaise, sending an explosion of rubble raining down on them.

Blink—the ball of fire speeding towards her.

 _Charlie_.

She felt a sigh escape her lips as her trip down memory lane ended with her kissing him. They’d left a lot unsaid in the middle of the field, knowing they still had a job to do. Part of her worried she’d ruined all of it, but there was an even bigger part of her that had resigned to fighting for it—whatever it was. She could see the fear in his eyes, and she knew he was terrified of commitment.

_Because commitment means being vulnerable to losing someone you love, love._

He’d whispered it later that night, unprompted, while she was nestled into his side.

_I’ve already lost too much._

It hurt her heart to know how broken he was, though she knew she was just the same—running from meaningful relationships and keeping herself consumed by work to avoid her reality. She was tired of the running, tired of building up walls that would only get knocked down after months of stressing to keep them intact.

She wanted to feel again, to breathe with ease again.

She was tired of dancing around the inevitable breakdowns, tired of the worrying glances everyone seemed to give her.

But mostly she was tired of pushing through, going through the motions while desperately running to get back to who she was.

It was sobering to her now, knowing that she never would get back to who she was—so much had changed, _she_ _had changed_. She wasn’t the know-it-all hell bent on proving her worth in the wizarding world, or the brainy side-kick who dove headlong into a suicide mission to takedown one of the greatest evil’s her world had seen. She was broken, battered, and lost.

The words rung hallow in her mind while she sipped the now-cool tea.

_But I won’t always be broken._

She’d been fighting for so long that it never occurred to her _what_ she was fighting for. Fighting to live wasn’t the same as fighting to exist. Suddenly she was reminded of the words Fred had whispered to her in the orchard.

_If we don’t learn to live, they’ll have died in vein._

She was ready to live again, even if it meant breaking all over. She was ready to feel, to be free of the ever-present numbness.

There was a rustling beside her as a figure sat on the log to her right. A warm arm wrapped itself around her waist, pulling her close. She could smell the familiar scent of leather and a hint of pine.

“Charlie,” she muttered, letting her head fall to his chest as she nestled closer, relishing the warmth his body had brought.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Do I ever?”

He chuckled, “No, I suppose not. I brought a fresh brew of tea.” He gestured to the metal thermos that he’d sat on the stone in front of the fire.

“Good, mine’s run cold.” She replied happily.

They sat in silence, much like before, with her head to his chest listening to the steady drum of his heart beat. It was hypnotic, and if she were being honest, Hermione could have stayed curled into him for the rest of her life and be perfectly content.

“How are you feeling?”

“That’s an extensive list,” she mused aloud. “It’s probably easier to check off what I’m not feeling.”

She heard his soft scoff, pulling a smile to her tired lips. She felt a rush as the courage built inside of her, finally ready to explain how she truly felt. No skating around it, no holding back.

 _I’m ready,_ she decided with finality.

“I’m tired—exhausted even. I’m a little fucked up, a little numb, and feel like I’m walking a fine line between feeling alive and feeling like I’m falling apart.

“But it’s progress compared to where I was Saturday. Fuck, it’s even better than where I was five years ago. I want to be able to breathe again, to feel alive and like what I’m fighting for isn’t so far away. I’m getting there, though.”

She laced her hand in his, nearly melting as he gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s terrifying isn’t it?” Charlie asked as he rubbed his thumb over her hand. “Being so aware of how fucked up your mind is, and not being able to change a thing.”

She nodded, “I’ve always been in control—with school, with my work, even with keeping Harry and Ron alive while we were on the run. But I can’t control myself. I can’t control when the guilt grips me, when the panic attacks my lungs. I can’t stop it when the noises get too loud, or when the visions become nightmares.”

The tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them away, not ready to lose it just yet. “Have I ever told you just how much you’ve helped me over the years?”

She was met with silence as Charlie leant away from her. He moved to kneel in front of her, one hand grasping hers while the other gently gripped her chin.

“You’re half the reason I’m still here breathing…” The way her words sounded in his mouth cut through her, sending her over the edge. She leant forward and buried her head into his shoulder, succumbing to the years of harbored traumas.

“You never have to be ashamed of it.” He muttered against her hair.

“I was so lost,” Her voice was strained. “I couldn’t make it stop—”

“You don’t need to explain it to me, love. Out of everyone I know perfectly well how far you’d fallen because I was right there with you, trying to find my own light.” Charlie reminded her.

“You’re strong, Hermione.” He continued as she felt the weight lifting from her chest. Gently he grabbed her chin and tilted her head up so he could see her face. “So strong and beautiful. You’ve been through so much tragedy and look where you are. Never be ashamed of your past.”

-.-.-

Waking up next to Charlie was always an experience. He moved in his sleep, more than she would expect is normal for any human, and always ended up in an unusual position, dead to the world. She found it adorable, though he didn’t know it. It was her little secre that she took pleasure in keeping.

Today he’d ended up on his stomach, head turned towards her at an awkward angle while one arm was draped across her waist. She knew it couldn’t possibly be comfortable, but the look of content on his face kept her from disturbing him.

She could sit and watch him for hours, and many mornings she would before the alarm on her wand chirped and signaled it was time to get ready for work.

Beside her he stirred, pressing his face further into his pillow and giving her hip a squeeze. Gently she swept his wavy hair from his face, smiling at the sleepy eye blinking at her.

“I could get used to this,” He muttered before rolling on to his side.

“You say that every day,” She responded with a roll of her eyes.

He gave her a wink before pulling her into a deep kiss. She pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him back on the bed, lips never breaking contact. A chime sounded through the room, followed by the familiar voice of her partner.

“Zabini to Granger.”

Hermione groaned against Charlie’s mouth, eyes closing. She felt him chuckle against her, “Duty calls, love.”

“It’s bloody Sunday,” She breathed against him before rolling towards the side table and grabbing her watch.

“Granger in.”

“Weasley onsite,” Charlie responded cheekily, ignoring her eye rolling.

“Gross.” Blaise voice exclaimed as the wisps of smoke formed a miniature version of his bust.

“It’s your fault for ringing at—oh what time is it—”

“11:00 Granger.”

“Still early for a Sunday!” She replied.

“Crime doesn’t seem to care about your love life,” Blaise retorted with a fake gag. “Poaching ring in Wales—pack a bag.”

“Again?” She groaned, dropping her head against the headboard with a solid thud.

“Again.” He said solemnly. “Give your man a quick goodbye and meet me in the office in twenty.”

She heard Charlie laugh beside her before he ducked towards the watch she was holding. “Be sure to give Cho a proper goodbye too.”

Hermione smirked and ended the call, tossing her watch back onto the table. “You’re rotten.”

“You love it.”

“Sometimes,” she replied cheekily before pushing him back onto the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it! This is the longest fic I've ever actually published and I won't lie and say I'm nervous as hell. But I'm trying to be a bit more confident in myself, so fuck it here it is. If one of you reading likes it then it was worth agonizing over for the past three years :)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is complete (11 chapters) and I'll be uploading it all at once. I'll also eventually cross post to FFnet if any of you see it over there.


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